


succumb

by unsseen



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Apocalypse, Blow Jobs, Captivity, Creepy Bill Cipher, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, M/M, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Obsessive Behavior, Obsessive Bill Cipher, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Bill Cipher, Possessive Sex, Public Blow Jobs, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Stalking, Unhealthy Relationships, Weirdmageddon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:48:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29321916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsseen/pseuds/unsseen
Summary: Weirdmageddon has begun. Dipper finds himself running from the demon hell-bent on capturing him and making him his.
Relationships: Bill Cipher & Dipper Pines, Bill Cipher/Dipper Pines, Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines
Comments: 10
Kudos: 88





	succumb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mabel makes a desperate decision. Meanwhile, Dipper struggles to face his demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the tags! If you don’t like what you see there, please click off this story! Otherwise, I would just like to state that I do not condone anything that happens within this chapter. 
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Underage, mentions of past abuse and rape/non-con (Bill and Dipper), flashbacks of past abuse and rape/non-con (Bill and Dipper), present rape/non-con and abuse (Dipper and Eightball), present non-consensual touching/licking/kissing (Bill and Dipper), graphic depictions of violence (Bill attacking Eightball).

#  I

Mabel could hardly suppress the feelings of deep indignation and vexation coursing through her veins. One could say it was almost palpable in its intensity, the result of being disregarded entirely by both her brother and close friends. After all, who could blame her? In one day’s time, it would be the twins’ birthday, specifically their thirteenth, and not one single soul seemed to give so much as a damn about it. Grenda and Candy brushed her off with the asinine excuses of flying to Austria and partaking in a music camp respectively, whereas Dipper -Mabel gritted her teeth to keep the anguished howl from escaping between her lips. Her complexion became both bitter and rancorous as she reminisced to earlier that day. She observed, invisible, as her brother barged into their room, standing tall, smiling delightedly, (he had to be smiling -Mabel’s hands balled into fists) announcing that he was to become Ford’s apprentice and be living out the duration of said profession in Gravity Falls. 

_ What? _

Mabel was dumbfounded, sitting there cross-legged on the bed, attempting to understand and keep her emotions in check simultaneously—her hands clutched the bed sheets so hard that her knuckles turned white. When it clicked, she felt the salty tang of tears threatening to fall, pricking at the corners of her eyes and she swallowed thickly. God, how she tried to form comprehensible words, a signature grin, but all that she managed to create was a weak grimace and incomprehensible sentences. She felt sick. This, this, is what she got for her birthday? From her brother, nonetheless? A single gift of:  _ I’m abandoning you! Congratulations! _ with confetti and ribbons adorning it. Bile rose in her throat. A snarling of  _ How could you! _ accompanied a wail of suffering ripped from the female twin—her tears were falling freely now, marring her vision. She snatched her backpack off the floor in a fit of despair and barrelled out the door, slamming it shut on her way out. She could hear her brother sprinting after her, ruefulness and sorrow and “ _ Mabel! Please come back!” _ But the pounding of her footsteps and the erratic beating of her heart drowned it out, leaving only a burdening silence interspersed with the occasional pant of breath. She flew out of the Mystery Shack and into the woods beyond without a glance back, (her brother paused at the threshold between the porch and the forest, watching dolefully as his sister’s shadow receded into the underbrush) the light patter of rain splattering atop her shoulders, foreshadowing the storm to come. Her only thoughts were of running, until minutes later, a deep ache settled within her muscles and she was forced into stopping. Mabel all but collapsed into a tree, finding comfort in the cool bark rubbing against her sweltering skin. Almost instantly, the tears began to flow tenfold, minuscule tremors evolving into tremendous, heaving sobs and wails within seconds. 

Her brother abandoned her. 

Mabel found it hard to breathe while accepting the dire reality of the situation, and under the sheer weight of the stress, Mabel crumpled, collapsing, pulling her knees tighter to her chest, wrapping her arms tighter around them, attempting to make herself smaller. Her own brother, (still, she could clearly picture the way his eyes hardened at her, the way his mouth twisted into an exhausted frown) her kin, had left her for Ford without so much as a second thought. She supposed she deserved it, for pressing that button all those weeks ago, for betraying Dipper’s trust wholly. She exhaled unsteadily, reminiscing back to the day when coldness was adamant on her brother’s face, transforming his features into an unintelligible mask. His eyes closed off, he had glowered and walked stiffly away to a place where he wouldn’t have to see those wide, rueful eyes and the sorrowful message they were trying to convey. 

Mabel trembled. It was her fault, wasn’t it? All of this, it occurred because of her. Tears fell, dribbling down her rubicund cheeks, dipping below her chin and onto her fuchsia sweater. It was an understatement to say that she regretted it. She mourned her mistakes. If only she had apologized to her brother instead of simply brushing it off as one of his mood swings. If only she had confronted him about his feelings of wariness regarding Ford. Nevertheless, she didn’t. And that was what drove the wedge between them, her lack of empathy, her selfishness. Mabel’s heart broke. 

Her eyes watered further and she let her head fall back against the tree. If she could only reverse summer, back to the times when her brother smiled freely sans the haunted look within his eyes, or when the twins would confide anything to each other and they would keep it sealed tight, no matter what. Back to the days when they were inseparable. Mabel moaned softly. But no one could help her, no one at all. She was alone on this issue, stranded within a sea of people who weren’t interested, who were cold and betrayed and simply didn’t care. She let her body go limp; it fell against the tree with a hollow thud, sliding down until the swaying grass supported her within its embrace. Mabel’s eyes went somewhere far away as they focused upon the sky, the swirling grey clouds foreshadowing the storm to come. 

Her eyes were misery incarnate. What she would give for one day with her brother, her Dipper, fun-loving, mystery-obsessed Dipper who was always grinning from ear to ear. She missed him so much it made her heart ache, a bone deep hurt -a soul deep agony. She wanted him back so very much. 

_ Dipper left you, she _ thought dispiritedly, brokenly. She trembled, stifled another sob.  _ Dipper left you _ .  _ Dipperleftyou _ .  _ Heleftyou _ . Her thoughts were racing, sending small pangs of pain throughout her skull. Why did he leave you? Why did he leave? WHY DID HE LEAVE! WHY! Soon enough, Mabel felt the sadness being smothered, overcome by a fit of bitterness. Dipper had left her for a man they had only known for but a month! Mabel scoffed half-heartedly, her face warped by an empty smile. She and Dipper had been through Hell and back, and Dipper and Ford had been through what? A life-sized board game? Mabel laughed mirthlessly albeit softly and shook her head. A small voice at the back of her head murmured that she was acting selfishly, with a lack of consideration for what Dipper might be undergoing at the moment. Mabel squelched it with a hiss. She was permitted to be selfish if Dipper was acting for himself too (a childish thought, her brain muttered). If only she could freeze summer and stop Dipper from leaving, keep both of them from growing up effectively, and then maybe, maybe she could have a chance of keeping her brother. Sighing, her anger subsiding, Mabel grabbed the backpack slumped beside her and flicked the flap open, planning on drowning her sorrows in party chocolate, only to reveal moth bitten notebooks and chewed up pens and pencils. The female twin groaned and flung the pack away from her, grumbling under her breath, “Wrong backpack.” Her demeanour turned despondent and she whispered, morose, “I just wish summer could last forever.” Her shoulders drooped and she sighed, letting her head fall against her knees. Her eyes fluttered close. 

Gold flickered between the trees.

“That might be possible.”

Mabel jolted, inhaling in surprise. The wind ruffled her hair as she stood warily, grabbing her brother’s backpack and she brought it to her chest protectively. Quickly, she fished out a flashlight, flicked the switch, and shone it in the general direction of the voice, between two looming pine trees. She could have swore she saw an eye blink at her. (Laughter sounded, like jittering, crunching bones and chiming bells) 

“What? Who said that?” She croaked hoarsely (though rather nasally), eyes narrowed. She held the flashlight up, her hands shaking slightly. Her eyes scanned the dense foliage surrounding her, swallowing thickly as she rubbed away any remnants of the breakdown she had suffered prior to the unforeseen voice.

The female twin took a cautious step back as a rounded figure stepped out from the foliage. At first glance, she believed it to be some sort of creature, a shadow monster, perhaps, come to seek justice for her sins(ludicrous, her sanity scolded); however, she squinted, only for her eyes to widen as she took in none other than Blendin Blandin, clad in his grey jumpsuit, his hair slicked back out of his face. He gave Mabel a weak smile and a nod, stating, “I-I-I can help.”

Mabel was taken aback. “The time travel guy?” She stuttered. Her eyebrows furrowed. “What are you doing here?” 

Blendin took a step forward. “You said you don't want summer to end, right? D-did-did I hear that right?” The time traveler smiled, although, in all honesty, it looked forced. Silent alarm bells pealed in Mabel’s head, one by one, causing the female twin to wince. She silenced them in curiosity, feeling a single kernel of hope begin to bloom within her stomach. Mabel repressed it, nevertheless, in the case this was nothing but a trick. She didn’t want her heart to break once again. 

“Yeah... why are you asking?” Her tone was cautious, wary, almost taking on an edge of suspicion. 

“Look, maybe it's against the rules, but you once did a favour for me, so I thought I could help you out. It’s called a time bubble,” Blendin explained, “and it prevents time from going forward. Summer in Gravity Falls can last as long as you want it to!” 

“R-Really?” Mabel inhaled in surprise. The kernel was blooming, even though Mabel was loath to admit it. Maybe after all those horrid weeks, she would finally be able to make amends with Dipper and things would revert back to how they were always supposed to be. Her and Dipper side by side. “But how does it work?” 

“I just need you to get a little gizmo for me from your uncle.” Blendin pressed a button on his watch, gaze focused as a small contraption was projected. It appeared to be some sort of glass sphere containing what looked like an ever-rotating galaxy ( _ Mirthful screaming and rattling laughter. She could hear it all _ ). Mabel tutted her head, confused. “It's something small. He won't even know it's missing.” 

“Huh,” Mabel muttered hopefully. “Maybe Dipper has something like that in his nerd-bag.” The female twin’s heartbeat was leaping as she reached hesitantly into the pack.  _ Please have the gizmo, please have the gizmo _ was the mantra that echoed around the spacious oblivion that was Mabel Pine’s mind.  _ This is my one chance to save Dipper from himself, from growing _ , she convinced herself,  _ his mind is just muddled. He needs me to open his eyes _ . Mabel’s hand searched around the bag, coming into contact with an abundance of junk and scrunched up papers, until she felt something round. 

“That's... odd.” Mabel kept her face neutral even as her emotions were screaming in triumph and satisfaction. She pulled out the rift, handling it carefully as she didn’t want to break the glass. A heavy sense of forbidding overcame her senses at the thought, causing Mabel’s vision to blackout; she stumbled before righting herself. Her mouth twitched and she held the sphere close to her chest, observing the flickering of neon lights within the fathomless deep. “This it?”

Blendin looked all too excited. “Yes, that's it!” He whispered in what seemed to be awe. “Just hand it over and I'll do my thing. Unless,” the man gave Mabel a toothy smirk, one that Mabel thought he was incapable of, “you're ready to leave Gravity Falls.” 

Mabel shook her head vigorously. “Just a little more summer,” she murmured to herself and handed the rift to Blendin (she hoped dearly that this wasn’t something important; she didn’t wish for Dipper to be angered further). He snatched it up greedily with the likeliness of a wolf and grinned. The sense of anger and bitterness in Mabel was erased by the sheer notion of anticipation and utter excitement of reuniting with her brother. She watched, entranced, as Blendin turned the rift over in his hands, as if shocked by the fact that he was currently holding a small portion of the universe, and dropped it, the glass shattering into a copious amount of shimmering shards. 

Mabel’s heart ground to a halt and she had difficulty breathing. Her vision wavered.

“Oops,” Blendin cackled, his voice altering, growing nasally and high-pitched. ( _ His voice _ .  _ Oh god _ , she could see him, her brother with those godforsaken golden eyes, laughing just like that.)

She whined in shock, the sound emitted from a primal place in her, warning that she had just been witness to something truly petrifying, horrifying; Mabel choked, aghast, as the earth splintered and crumbled beneath her feet, giving way to the utter nihility of the rift and what lay beyond. The derisive laughter of the time-traveller ( _ demon) _ pounded her eardrums, chilling her to her very core; she could only watch in trepidation and hopelessness as the fissure spread, bleeding onto the grass, swallowing the winding roots of trees whole, annihilating and devouring everything and anything in its path. The ground shuddered with the force of a mighty earthquake, sending the female twin stumbling as trees and plants quivered.

Dread was cumulating, pooling in the pit of her stomach, rendering it difficult for the female twin to do so much as swallow. Sweat beaded on her temples and she shivered, eyes wide and panicked whilst a heavy wind howled overhead, watching as the fissure paused in its violent rampage, only to shudder, rising, and leach onto the sky.

The sky that was oozing crimson, the hue of fresh spilt blood.

The rift then exploded, spearing points to form a thick, bloody x —Mabel squeezed her eyes shut against the onslaught of red, red,  _ red _ . She cringed, breath hitching, eyelids fluttering open when the crimson faded from vie=w -she reeled back in horror when she saw Blendin sneering at her, chuckling softly, reaching up to peel back the goggles that had hidden his eyes from view. 

Mabel gagged.

Slitted pupils tracked her every move, all the while the golden iris fluctuated in hue and colour, emitting a soft glow. Bill Cipher leered down at her, in all his glory, mouth stretched wide into that all to familiar grin, laughing, as he reached up to snap his elegant fingers.

In a fit of desperation, Mabel choked a panicked, “Oh no! Wait, wait, wait!” lunging in an attempt to stop the demon before a resounding snap could be heard. 

But, she was too late.

Mabel’s world was ripped away from her, piece by piece, until all that remained was oblivion. 

#  II

Dipper was weary, fatigued, and bone-tired, with a readiness to take a steaming hot shower, then simply collapse in bed and sleep. His day had been hell, to say the least; the prior hours filled with wrestling and battling a horde of extraterrestrial droids (they, armed with scalding lasers and he, only a magnetizing gun), rescuing his Grunkle Ford from an imminent, agonizing death, and, gently disclosing to Mabel that he was to be residing in Gravity Falls. Naturally, she didn’t take it well; he can remember her broken expression and her hollow eyes as she had wrangled out of his grip, sobbing hysterically, and sprinted out of the Mystery Shack into the surrounding deep forest, leaving him feeling oh so empty inside.

The male twin worried his bottom lip and combed a shaky hand through his chestnut curls.  _ God,  _ how he wished he could take it all back, Mabel had looked so very lifeless and sorrowful  _ and it was all his fault _ . Sighing, he shuddered and made his way over the bathroom, stepping lightly although the occasional floorboard creaked as he went. A gentle light shone through below the door, and Dipper knocked softly as he didn’t wish to disturb anyone inside. When no one answered, the male twin entered, turning on the sink, rinsing his hands and letting the swell of cool water flush away the grime and dirt, then splashing some tepid water on his face and wiping it away with a rough cloth. He blinked rapidly, his lip quivering when he observed his reflection in the mirror: the defined hollows of his cheekbones, the awful plum hue blooming beneath his eyes, the pallidness and dampness of his usually tan skin. He winced, shuddering slightly, as he noticed the defined welts and dark bruises littered across his thin neck, trailing up his chin to press against the skin of his cheek.  _ (The feeling of searing, blistering heat of honeyed kisses coexisting with a possessive cerulean eye brimming with such tenderness and adoration that it made the boy weep) _

The boy stifled a helpless whine gnawing at the back of his throat and shucked his clothes off in a hurried manner. He pulled the white curtain aside, climbed in the shower before turning the dial to far right, wincing as a painful shower of scorching water rained down upon his person. He hurriedly lathered himself in a soap oddly smelling of citrus, letting his lathered hands smooth down the flat panes of his chest, down,  _ down- (A guttural scream, a pleading of “Stop! Oh god, please stop! St-“ hushed by a soft hand smothering his mouth, a thumb tracing his lips, and the feeling of being speared open intensified to the point that the boy’s vision began to black out. All the while, a hushed voice murmured against his skin “Ṡṏ ḃḕḀṳṮḭḟṳḶ,” accompanied by a hand trailing down. The boy’s eyes went wide. "Ṡṏ ṖṙḕṮṮẏ,” it stroked idly and the boy stifled a whimper, "ḀṆḊ ḃṙṏḲḕṆ,” it finished, a clawed hand thumbing the tip as another brushed away the tears littering his red face. “ _ **_ṁẏ_ ** _ ḶḭṮṮḶḕ ṠḀṖḶḭṆḠ,” it cooed. “ḀḶḶ  _ **_ṁḭṆḕ”_ ** _ )  _ Dipper’s eyes had blown wide by the time he resurfaced, he was visibly shaking and red and wrinkled. He shut the shower off and stumbled out, blindly grabbing a towel hanging from the door. The male twin dried his body hastily, attempting to block out the dozens of memories of  _ hands and lips and tongues and a myriad of other organs  _ from arising; he blinked back shameful tears and pulled his pants and shirt on, the feeling of  _ eyes  _ watching him so very hard to ignore now. They burned into the back of his neck and Dipper couldn’t do so much as stop them, he shut off the bathroom light, gathering his soiled clothes in his arms prior to walking out the door. He was shaking now, visibly so, as he began the process of jogging down the hall, his pace quickening when the scalding feeling intensified. He reached the twin’s bedroom within the span of a couple seconds and began to fiddle with the wooden door knob that wouldn’t do so much as budge. Breathing heavily, the male twin’s eyes were rather wild as he fought to gain access to the room, however, with a firm push, the flimsy door finally swung open with a creaking sound that reverberated throughout the Shack. Cringing, Dipper snuck inside and deposited his clothes within the wash bin at the foot of his bed, of which he planned to take down to the laundry room, thus prompting him to heft the bucket into his arms. As he turned to leave, the male twin emitted a breathy whimper when he felt a gloved hand brush ever so slightly across his shoulder-blade. He spun, but was met with nothing other than the triangle shaped window boring down upon him. Dipper trembled under its gaze, knowing damn well who it belonged to, and hurried out of the bedroom and down to the basement. He could have sworn he heard the soft, lilting laughter of the demon trailing his retreating figure. 

A barking of “Dipper! Come quick!” thrust the male twin out of his haunting thoughts and sent him almost tumbling down the stairs, although he righted himself rather quickly. Swallowing, the male twin dropped his bucket and trotted to the main foyer where the voice originated from. He glanced in and saw his Grunkle Ford -face pale and knuckles white- looking out the door with an aura of obvious horror and shock; the man who always seemed to be wearing a brave front so paralyzed that it turned Dipper’s blood to lead. 

Something was seriously wrong.

The male twin entered warily, voice quivering as he uttered, “Wh-what is it?” Ford didn’t answer. His Grunkle’s silence motivated Dipper to take the few steps separating him from the gateway and the outside world, and he inhaled jerkily at what he beheld.

The sky bleeding, swelling maroon and vermillion and crimson, adorned with a hashed rift that screamed madness in the form of an x. Peals of hideous laughter were an onslaught to the male twin’s ears; his eyes widened in horror as affrighting shapes pulled themselves from within the tear, emitting howls of utter malevolence. 

All colour drained from Dipper’s tan complexion. He swallowed thickly, shuddering, a heavy notion of dread settling in the pit of his stomach. “What’s going on?” He croaked. The twelve year old took a stumbling step back into the threshold, gripping the doorframe to steady himself. “What is that?” His eyes widened as he took in the slow moving, blood-red darkness that seemingly crawled over the hellscape once known as Gravity Falls. Ford attempted to put a reassuring hand on Dipper’s shoulder, although his eyes were frantic. Already, screams and bellows of pure fright could be heard resonating through the trees. Dipper shivered.

“We’re too late,” Ford murmured from Dipper’s side. He ran a shaky hand through his meticulously styled hair and exhaled heavily. “It’s the end of the world.”

#  III

Dipper whimpered. He could feel the demon ( _ hands, stroking, always stroking, and a mouth pressed flush against his pulse _ ).  _ He _ was near. Just the thought of the demon making good on his promise, a vow murmured quietly to him all those nights ago, (“ _ Sapling,” a soft mouth traced the juncture between his neck and shoulder, “I assure that one day, Sixer is going to slip up.” Teeth, so sharp and so very white, bit deep into the pliant skin—crimson bubbled and Dipper could hear himself wail. “Fall from atop his high horse.” A hot tongue lapped at the blood and a gentle hand cupped his cheek, brushed away his falling tears. “And I’ll be there to steal everything he’s ever cared for—worked for—away.” The fact that the promise—statement—was spoken matter-of-factly, no arrogance attached, made it all the worse.)  _ was enough to send the brunette into a fit of despair. ( _ “Once all is done,” the demon continued, cooing softly, “I will find you, my pet.” Dipper sobbed as his rubicund face was titled to the side, as he was forced to look into the demon’s cerulean eyes. A cruel smile twisted his beautiful face into something hellish, and he leaned in to brush those sinful lips against the boy’s ear. “And I will steal you away, lock you within a gilded cage where all you will know is me and the extent of my desire.” The demon framed the boy’s soft face with his clawed hands and kissed him deeply.)  _ Now, Dipper’s pulse was a thunderous thing in his ears and he was sure he was going to pass out. Tears of hopelessness were gathering in the corners of his too-wide, chocolate eyes, fear of the demon making good on his second promise fuelling them. Distantly, Dipper was aware that his Grunkle was leading him out of the Mystery Shack and onto the front lawn, where the grass was wilting and turning black as death. He snapped out of his stupor and watched warily as Ford crouched down and ran a blade of grass between his thumb and forefinger. The older man’s eyes were attentive, his mouth frowning as he stood up and surveyed his surroundings. “So this is how the world ends,” he mused to himself. “With an apocalypse brought about by Satan reincarnate.”

“Weirdmageddon,” Dipper breathed, testing the foreign word out in his mouth. He recalled the demon—he flinched—rambling on about his apocalypse during those nights he spent prisoner to Cipher’s every whim. Ford eyed him strangely, a tad bit of suspicion entering his eyes, before shaking off whatever thought had caused said emotion. 

Ford muttered, “The rift is shattered.” The old man began to pace back and fourth, only pausing when a dire thought hit him. “Bill's world is spilling into ours and every minute his powers grow stronger.” Dipper winced at the mention of the demon’s name before mulling over his Grunkle’s words. He was right, the rift must have shattered in his pack, nonetheless, the pack that  _ Mabel _ grabbed before dashing into the woods.  _ Oh God- _

“Mabel!” Dipper cried out, eyes frantic and searching. His breathing was ragged, enough to thump along with his racing pulse. “The rift must have cracked inside her backpack!” His complexion was full of worry and anticipation; he gripped his chestnut curls within his fists and racked his brain for an answer. “She must be in danger!” he wailed, “I have to go find her.” In a distraught manner, Dipper quickly dashed over the barrier dividing the Mystery Shack from the woods beyond, while grappling for the walkie talkie located within his small knapsack. Once he got a hold of it, he held down on a button and bellowed desperately, “Mabel! Come in!” No answer. The boy’s eyes were blown wide in horror as he used his fist to hit the object repeatedly. “Mabel!  _ Mabel-“ _

“Dipper-“ A hand encircled his wrist, gently at first, and then hard enough to bruise when the boy didn’t stop. A hoarse cry found its way out of Dipper’s lips and g _ od,  _ the manacles, the manacles,  _ help me, help me please- _ ( _ He had tried to run. But the dreamscape was ethereal, infinite, a place of madness and beauty and horror of which he could never escape. The demon had found him within minutes, disdain and disappointment drowning out the beauty of his features. Dipper was so very afraid; he had begged the demon’s forgiveness, to which the demon responded with a displeased click of his tongue. He had the boy chained up in scorching, ripping manacles and had him beaten until he had passed out. From that, the boy had sworn to never attempt to run, and the demon had healed his wounds, but left the scars as a reminder of Dipper’s insolence.)  _ Dipper wrenched his arm away, as if burned before emitting a broken keen, and then realized he was in the company of his great uncle, who looked down on him in worry. Dipper stuttered, then murmured a quiet “Sorry”.

The older man sighed and crouched down to Dipper’s eye level, so they could see eye to eye. He placed a tentative hand on Dipper’s shoulders, scared to spook the boy once again. “Listen to me,” he began gently. “We can find your sister soon, but first we have to stop Bill. If we can blast him back through the rift he came out of, we just might be able to stop him before his weirdness spreads across the entire globe.”

Dipper shuddered, then murmured weakly, “Are you sure defeating Bill is even possible?” He cringed at the sound of the demon’s name on his tongue, the demon who had left more than simple scars and bruises upon his person. But he refused to cower. The boy stood straighter and attempted to put what he thought to be a brave face on.

Ford shook his head and pressed his lips into a thin line. “No,” he asserted. “I'm not sure.” Dipper’s grunkle stood up and gazed southward, to where screaming and pleas for mercy could be heard resonating. “But being a hero means fighting back even when it seems impossible.” He looked down at Dipper, and something like pride and love flickered within his umber eyes. “Will you follow me?”

Dipper swallowed and squared his shoulders. “To the ends of the Earth.”

Ford smiled grimly. “Good,” he stated. “Because that's where we're heading.”

#  IV

It took them a fair amount of time to traverse the thick, overgrown forest, sneak through town, and scale the monstrous clock tower without being caught by the demons that had slipped through the rift, but Dipper and Ford miraculously managed to prevail. By the time they reached their destination, both males were panting and slick with sweat. Nevertheless, Ford ignored the aching of his bones and the protesting of his muscles, and set to work preparing a sleek, black rifle. Something akin to satisfaction shone in his eyes as he opened the chunky case, revealing the gun. He stated proudly with a cocked grin, “Ah, my quantum destabilizer. I've been waiting a long time to use this.” He pulled the gun out of its confinements and balanced the heavy thing on his shoulder, his fingers dancing across the glowing dial pad on the left side. There were numerous clicks and hisses, then a whir as a bright blue cylinder of energy materialized in the barrel. “We're only gonna have one chance to take this shot,” Ford stated and levelled the rifle so that its triangular shape aligned with that of Bill Cipher.

On the opposite end of the room, Dipper Pines sat—with his knees up to his chest—in a small alcove in the wall overlooking the ensuing chaos. Below him, Bill and his—what Dipper assumed to be—lackeys obliterated and destroyed the town that the twelve-year-old had come to love. There was a female, a creature of pink horns and white teeth and a flaring cape of rose coloured flames, conceiving hot magenta fire balls and firing them at the—what used to be— shops and stores. At her side, a small blue creature with two, beady yellow eyes and a keyhole shaped cavity implanted in his bulbous head, cackled while muttering incantations underneath his breath, causing entire buildings to turn to ash. Dipper shuddered tremendously and observed as more demons, some moss green, some a deep violet, others flashing multiple shades and hues, razing the town into utter ruins. A lone tear slipped down Dipper’s bruised cheek as he watched the destruction of the one place he felt at home. The boy, however, was snapped out of his dark thoughts when a blood-chilling, mirthful chuckle sounded. 

_ Him.  _

Dipper felt his face go pallid. He couldn’t - _he_ _couldn’t_ \- find the bravery to look out the window and lay his eyes upon the golden demon that had did so much more than turn his world upside down. The demon turned his life into a living Hell. He couldn’t bear to look and see the abnormally tall, slender figure, his toothy grin, and those two mirthful, yet sadistic cerulean eyes that had dug into his own while the demon had hammered into him- Dipper choked back a sob.

“Dipper!” 

Dipper’s head snapped up and he hastily wiped away the tears pricking in his eyes. Ford was motioning him over from his spot by the gaping hole in the wall, a triumphant sort of grin plastered across his face. Dipper unfurled from his nook, bones creaking as he did so, and made his way over to his grunkle on soft feet. He crouched down next the Ford, who firmly patted him on the back and then raised the massive gun. Ford sucked in a whistling breath between his teeth as he aligned the rifle with the back of Bill Cipher. 

“Steady…” Dipper’s grunkle said through gritted teeth, “steady… and…"

Within a split second, a hurtling wave of swirling neons and pastels crashed overtop the two Pines, encasing them in a bubble-like fluid before dissolving. Dipper cried out and reared back; Ford seemed unfazed, that was, until the great bronze bell behind them sprung to life with a demented giggle and an “I'm alive now!” Ford jerked in surprise, gaping, taking the gun with him, and pressed his finger against the trigger.

Ford bellowed a rapid “Oh no!!” as the sapphire laser was hurtled forward until it cleaved straight through the top of Bill Cipher’s hat. Dipper’s gut lurched and he felt an oncoming sense of nausea arising; his throat felt swollen and he could barely breathe. 

There was utter quiet, perhaps caused by disbelief, until a dark, menacing laugh penetrated the silence, emanating from the golden being floating before the clock tower. The hat -floating just above the demon’s head- was returned to its former glory with a flick of the being’s wrist, and -with that- the demon spun around. His kohl lined cerulean eyes were crinkled with -what Ford assumed to be- mirth, and his inhumanly sharp teeth were spread into a savage smirk. Cipher clapped his silk gloved hands ever so slowly and scanned the clock tower; he, the picture of composure.

Ford was scrambling and his brain was on the fritz, but he managed to push Dipper out of sight, Dipper, who was trembling and radiating so much dread, fear that a boy of his age shouldn’t be experiencing. The brunette stumbled out of view, and muffled a whimper as his head was slammed against the crumpling brick wall. He collapsed in on himself, shaking, curling into a tight little ball to make himself smaller as he heard a soft “Well, well, well,” from outside, causing the two males to shudder from the demon’s oncoming wrath.

Ford narrowed his eyes, stepping onto the ledge that rimmed the outside of the clocktower, and glared at Cipher. The demon’s grin turned sinister as he said, “Here I thought today couldn't get any  _ better _ !” Punctuating his sentence, -Ford let out a holler of horror- a vermillion beam shot out of the demon’s outstretched hand, destroying the tower in which the two Pines stood instantly. The entirety of the top floor crumpled beneath the demon’s plight, trapping both Dipper and Ford underneath a pile of rubble.

Dipper yelped as the roof came crashing down upon him; his vision went black with agony as several horrifying cracks sounded from within his body. The brunette whimpered hoarsely when he felt a rib groan under the pressure of the stone -there were sure to be a multitude of fractures and bruises- then break completely. The boy bit his split lip to keep from screaming and tried to keep moving. Dipper’s eyes watered in agony as he attempted to free his battered and broken body from the wreckage, although his vision went red with each movement, no matter how minuscule, and white-hot pain would cause his entire form to buckle. Dipper groaned and spotted his Grunkle, injured but alive, suffering the same predicament as himself. Each inhale sent agony rocketing through his chest, but Dipper managed to croak out a bellowing “Great uncle Ford!”. With a last heave, Dipper forced himself from under the fallen beam and yelped in utter pain. 

“Dipper!” Ford cried from underneath the wreckage. Dipper heard the older man heave in a stuttering, pained breath before reaching beside him and pushing a backpack forward with all of his might. Ford hissed in agony before nodding to the pack; the flap slid open to reveal the journals. “Take my journals!” Ford cried out, eyes wide and panicked. Hesitantly, Dipper crouched down and scooped up Journal 3, one of the last remaining hopes of putting an end to the dream demon. Ford attempted to slide forward, but only managed a few inches before he emitted a pained wine. “Listen,” Ford croaked, “I know of one other way to defeat Bill, it’s-“. Quiet, dark laughter sounded behind the old man. Dipper’s heart began to pick up. Ford’s eyes widened as he glanced something approaching from behind Dipper; his face blanched white. “Oh, no!” He hissed quietly. His expression became one of dread. “Dipper! Run! Get down!”

Dipper glanced back at his Uncle, his eyes panicked. He couldn’t leave his Great Uncle, his mentor, his  _ friend,  _ to the wrath of that demon. But as cruel, magical cackling emanated from all around the boy, Dipper—with a heavy heart—sprinted (limped) over to the stairs, which were in a relatively decent condition, and ran down the winding stairwell of the clocktower.  _ I swear I’ll come back for you,  _ Dipper vowed silently, sadly. His breaths were coming out in short stutters, and with every one, a pang of agony raced up his chest; his heartbeat and pulse fluttered in his ears. Ford’s fate was sealed the moment his fingers had found the trigger, Dipper knew. Him being captured by Bill—the boy whimpered slightly at the name—was almost inevitable. Dipper, however, being taken by the demon was avoidable. The boy’s dirt-encrusted face hardened. It was up to him now to find the rest of his family and rescue a certainly doomed Ford, even if it killed him. Dipper stumbled down the rest of the stairs; when he reached the ground floor, his legs gave out from under him. Dipper fell to the ground with an undignified yelp. He attempted to catch himself with his arms, but as soon as his right hand made contact with the ground, the boy screamed as white-hot pain exploded within the extended limb which crumpled beneath him. Dipper inhaled shakily and hesitantly pushed himself into a sitting position with his left arm. The boy felt sick when he gently lifted up the seemingly broken appendage to reveal a multitude of ugly, plum-coloured bruises and angry, swollen skin.  _ Definitely broken,  _ the boy thought helplessly before peeling off his vest and turning it into a makeshift sling. Carefully, Dipper used the wall as leverage to push him to his feet, dusting himself off with his other busted, although not broken, arm. The boy was about to make his way out of the clock tower when he heard  _ his  _ saccharine voice croon, “Good old six-fingers.” Within a millisecond, Dipper was limping out the door with the backpack clutched tightly in his hand. He rushed to find cover behind one of the tall alder trees even as his fractured ribs screamed out in protest, stumbling behind the nearest one. Breathing laboured, the boy peaked out from his hiding spot and shuddered, cringed,  _ quivered,  _ trembled like a leaf in a storm, his eyes screwed shut in imminent fear. He could see—feel— _ his _ presence like corruption, tainting the back of his mind with sugar-coated lies and gentle, roaming hands. 

Bill Cipher hovered above the barren ground with a malicious, albeit pleased, grin plastered across his beautiful face. His golden curls were meticulous, his cerulean eyes glimmering with mirth and wickedness as he rubbed his two spindly, silk gloved hands together. In front of him, Ford floated helplessly, held aloft by the demon’s magic. As Bill leaned in, Dipper watched as his Great Uncle cowered in utter disgust. “I’ve been waiting an  _ eternity _ to have a chat face to face.” The demon’s expression was akin to one of a child receiving a particularly great birthday present. 

Dipper was held still by utter terror and distress as he watched the demon circle his Great Uncle as a wolf would circle prey. Bill’s expression turned thoughtful, musing, before he lifted Ford higher into the air and spun to face his pack of revolting lackeys.

“Everyone,” Bill began in a euphoric tone, “this armageddon wouldn't be possible without help from our friend here”. Ford was thrust forward, straight above the pack of demons below. Dipper saw his Great Uncle shiver. “Give him a six-fingered hand!” The reaction was almost instantaneous; every demon began to clap, some of them hollering and bellowing vile things, malevolent things. “This brainiac is the one who built the portal in the first place!” Bill mocked, his grin stretched even wider, if that was even possible. The demon spun to face Ford, hands on his hips. “Now don't look so sour, Fordsy,” the demon chided playfully. “It's not too late to join me. With that extra finger, you'd fit right in with my freaks.”

Dipper’s heart lodged in his chest. His Great Uncle wouldn’t, right? Swallowing thickly, Dipper took another quick peek and saw a look of complete resentment flash across Ford’s face. 

“I’ll die before I join you!” Ford spat angrily, eyes wild. The old man quickly scanned the area for his Great Nephew,—too quick for Cipher to suspect anything—praying he would be safe from  _ him _ . When he was met with nothing, he glared at the demon and hissed, “I know your weakness, Bill!”

The demon leaned back, clutching his stomach and laughing softly, darkly. “Oh, yeah?” He crooned sweetly. Bill wiped a false tear from his eye before flicking it at Ford. The older man flinched. “And I know a riddle.” His expression became one of smug contentment as he watched Ford’s brows furrow. “Why did the old man do this?” Ford observed wearily as Bill assumed a pose, bringing his arms up and curving his hands. 

“This?” Ford replied, mimicking the demon’s pose.

A feeling of dread, of complete and utter trepidation, coated the inside of Dipper’s stomach, weighing it down. Palpitating with terror, Dipper observed as the demon smirked before lifting his hand a firing a laser at his Great Uncle, petrifying him. Gold raced up Ford’s limbs, encasing him in a glittering, revolting prison. Dipper’s brain stopped working. His gaze zeroed in on Ford,  _ his Great Uncle, his role model,  _ frozen by none other than the demon. When the fact finally registered, Dipper whimpered in anguish; he stumbled and fell onto his back, crying out as his vision went red.  _ This has to be some sort of dream, some sort of sick joke, right?  _ The 12-year-old thought desperately, despondently. He could only watch as Bill plucked the floating Ford from midair and admired it malevolently. Dipper whined in suffering and discomfort as he maneuvered himself into a sitting position; his heart picked up a violent beat in his chest and his lungs seemed to not be functioning properly. Dipper felt utterly hopeless and lightheaded as the demon emitted a psychotic cackle. 

“Because I needed a new back scratcher!”  _ He _ announced, leering with a cruelness, callousness.

Time slowed to a crawl. Dipper couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen to his brain, everything was progressing far too fast for him to comprehend.  _ Ford is gone,  _ his thoughts blared miserably in his mind. Dipper trembled, body shaking with large, sick shudders and let out a broken keen. He stumbled, crawled, forward, falling within the dense foliage of the tree where broken, scandaling tears began to prick at the corners of his eyes. Dipper couldn’t breathe; he choked and gagged, struggling to get air into his lungs as fat tears rolled down his rosy cheeks. The boy sobbed quietly, dispiritedly and he curled up in a ball, winding his thin, bony arm around his legs while he kept the broken one tucked tight against his chest.  _ Ford is gone, Ford is gone, Fordisgone, Fordisgone, FordisgoneFordisgone. Who was going to stop Bill, now?  _ Dipper thought forlornly; it wasn’t as if he even stood a chance all alone. Mabel was gone ( _ because of him a cold voice intoned from some dark, desolate place inside of him) _ , Stan was nowhere to be seen, Ford was captured, and Dipper—Dipper, well, he was useless and broken and alone with no one to help him. He was an idiot to think that he could do this by himself. 

The boy’s face was florid, the soft apples of his porcelain cheeks accented with the shining residue of tear streaks. His mind was in turmoil; he was so very disoriented and fearful, chocolate orbs blown wide and innocent. The Pines boy found it very hard to process the fact that his Great Uncle had been captured, ripped from his side by a deranged demon and converted into gold. Dipper gripped his chocolate curls with hands whose knuckles had gone bone white and inhaled shakily through plush, pink, soft lips. He was feeling rather lightheaded at that moment; it was hard for his muddled mind to concentrate and hone in on a single thought. The boy attempted to stand up, although he stumbled and tripped over his two stick thin legs whose bones jutted out strangely. Dipper collapsed onto his knees, hissing quietly through bone white teeth as red-hot agony lanced up through sprawling limbs. Straightaway, the boy’s clouded, terrified eyes flicked up to the floating demon, frightened that the dark being had heard his cry of pain and was descending to capture him. However, he was vastly relieved when the demon continued to jeer and prattle on with his Henchmaniacs, not giving the sound so much as a thought. 

The boy emitted a myriad of soft whimpers and cries as he began to slowly inch his body towards the woods to the left of him, careful to keep hidden behind the underbrush. As his broken rib and arm hindered the Pines boy from standing up and running, Dipper was troubled that his leisure pace would get him captured. The boy swallowed thickly and trembled, trembling because if he was captured, if  _ he  _ got a hold of his soulmate in his corporal state, entire world’s, planets,  _ even realms _ , would be at stake. The demon’s—Dipper flinched—hunger was unfathomable, deep and black and cold and dark; it  _ could never be sated.  _ As soon as the demon and his goons had settled down, Dipper knew that Cipher’s attention would turn to the boy who held his affections—( _ Blistering, heated kisses were applied to pale skin marred by the deep plum hue of bruises; lithe, elegant fingers carded through a head of soft, silken chocolate curls. Gentle, roaming lips brushed against an exposed shoulder blade where sinful words were murmured tenderly, reverently. The body shivered, trembled underneath the ministrations; the touches brought forth sickness and an urge to scrub the skin until it was red and blistered and raw, until the wrong, wrong, wrong touches could be erased.)  _

Dipper whimpered a sob, tightly clutching the body that had been violated more times than he could count. If Bill caught him, the boy knew he would shatter into a thousand pieces, broken. 

He wouldn’t survive. 

#  V

The Pines boy exhaled sharply, breath trembling, as he limped behind the towering alder trees. Every inhalation, every  _ step _ sent a throbbing pang through his chest as a result of his surely broken rib. The twelve-year-old winced, staggering, keeping his balance by placing a hand on the nearest stump all the while his eyes remained trained on the golden glow of the demon, flashing through the emerald leaves. 

The boy flinched at a particularly loud cackle which resonated through the woods, gaze focused on the demon. In that moment of unawareness, Dipper stumbled over a root jutting from the earth and fell, straight onto his broken and battered arm.

A bone-deep, excruciating agony stabbed through the boy as the shattered bone twisted in the skin, part of it protruding out at an angle that was sickening to look at. Dipper let out a pained scream and heaved, body spasming violently as the hurt continued on. He cried hoarsely, mouth gaping, unable to form words, tears aflame and trailing down his rubicund face. The boy’s lungs burned horribly; his mind was on the fritz, his sensors were overloaded with red, red,  _ red,  _ although some small aspect of his mind was terror-ridden, knowing that the scream couldn’t have gone unnoticed, that it was too loud and too blaring to be ignored.

And unnoticed it was not.

The young boy whimpered, sobbed quietly as teardrops cascaded down his face. The agony was too much; he himself had never experienced anything to this degree outside of the occasional sprain or burn. He curled in on himself, distress evident on his face. It was at that moment that Dipper realized that the forest had become deathly silent; the chirping of birds, the murmur of bugs was gone, lacking. The Pines boy’s hands began to shake violently; terrible, heaving sobs becoming progressively more brutal as time ticked onwards. Dipper’s utter terror and dread was almost tangible; he squeezed his eyes shut to block out what he knew was coming, what was inevitable. He pulled his bruised and battered legs to his chest, attempting to make himself smaller, praying with every fibre of his being that he would go unnoticed, unseen.

The crunch of heavy footfall reverberated through the towering trees, interrupting the oppressive stillness. Dipper choked, his throat tightening to the extent that he couldn’t ( _he couldn’t escape, he couldn’t escape, he COULDN’T escape)_ breathe; the buildup of absolute fear and anguish overflowing, overwhelming the boy. He grappled at his slim neck with pale hands, grappling for any sort of hold, but finding none. The footsteps drew ever nearer; what Dipper thought to be one being multiplying into two, into three, into hundreds as the footfall increased, becoming erratic. The boy’s eyes screwed tighter to the point that it was painful. Whimpering, the Pines boy covered his mouth with his available hand, even while he choked, hoping that _they_ (something within the boy fractured) wouldn’t hear him. 

Yet again, it was in vain.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” The reek of corpses, of death wafted over to the boy, surrounded him (He _ was everywhere, on top of him, around him, caging him in and he, he was helpless and broken and he could never escape).  _ A monstrous olive-green demon lumbered over to the boy, mouth parted in a wolfish smile, presenting its revolting mouth filled to the brim with deathly sharp, moon-white teeth. “A flesh bag,” it proclaimed, feigning surprise. Its eyes crinkled with something akin to mirth, albeit less innocent, and it crouched down next to the trembling figure. A grotesque, obsidian-clawed hand reached forward to brush some of the loose strands of chestnut locks from the boy’s head, tucking them snugly behind an ear. Dipper hyperventilated; he was on the verge of a full blown panic attack. The boy whimpered, causing the demon’s grin to widen, if that even was possible. It leaned down, black eyes rolling into its head, teeth too close to the boy’s head for comfort as it took a large inhale of the boy’s scent. Its pupils dilated. “A delectable _ - _ smelling, pretty flesh bag,” it amended in a guttural voice. It licked its lips. Dipper’s heart ground to a stop; he wished for death as the demon’s hand cupped his cheek, thumb brushing away the tears in a mocking sort of way. “I’ll bet it’ll taste  _ exquisite, _ ” it hissed, although by taste, Dipper had a feeling the demon didn’t mean it in the traditional sense. All blood drained from the boy’s face.

The olive demon smirked menacingly and leaned forward, sweeping its foul lips across the pale curve of the boy’s neck, against his thundering pulse. Goose bumps rose wherever the demon made contact with the boy’s skin. The boy fumbled to form words to fend off the demon, but his tongue and lips were clumsy and only a string of whimpers escaped. Dipper cowered visibly, hot tears prickling at the corners of his chocolate eyes. An aura of pure, utter terror and revulsion exuded from the trembling figure; a repeating of  _ nonono _ and  _ please stop _ and  _ help me _ looped within his mind. However, the Pines boy knew that a mantra couldn’t save him from the inevitable (he was too weak and too scared and too easily overpowered by the greater being. His attempts to escape were pointless and futile and it would only end up badly for him), only  _ he _ could. If  _ he _ found out that  _ his _ goons had been touching what was  _ his _ , (Dipper cringed—bile rising in his throat—at the sheer prospect that he referred to himself as his possession) if Dipper sustained so much as a cut or bruise or marking from their ravishment of him, anyone who didn’t run fast enough would be dead.  _ His _ lusting,  _ his _ possessiveness and obsessiveness and adoration of the boy was abysmal and fathomless as the void from which  _ he _ was birthed;  _ he _ would stop at nothing to have the boy within his grasp, to make Dipper  _ his _ . A shuddering, whimpering sob squeezed past swollen lips as a prehensile tongue curled from inside the demon’s mouth and slithered across pert cheeks. Whatever he was forced to endure here, at the hands of the olive demon, was sure to be better than the fate which awaited him in  _ his _ grasp. 

“Delicious,” the demon growled, voice grating to the child’s ears. Dipper recoiled as the tongue swiped below his eyes, tasting the salt of his tears. “Suffering looks absolutely exquisite on you, darling thing.” Dipper shook, screwing his eyes shut when he felt the tongue dipping lower, alongside large, roaming hands. They traced his bobbing Adam’s apple, ghosted across his throat, hesitating when they reached the collar of the Pines boy’s rust coloured shirt. Then, within one swift motion, the hands grabbed the hem and pulled, tearing the article of clothing right down the middle, revealing the smooth, soft expanse of Dipper’s chest. The twelve year old whimpered, mouth agape, as cool air licked at his pale flesh, revealing the ugly patchwork of scarlet coloured blisters and welts and the abundance of plum, blue, and the occasion green bruises. When the demon made to brush aside the swaths of fabric that still obscured parts of his chest, Dipper—in a futile attempt to regain some footing—tried to bat away the hands, to the monster’s amusement. It cackled, a deep, rasping sound that radiated from within its chest, before subduing the boy with a flick of its wrist. Small, twisting vines, a great deal of them, exploded from within the hard earth on which Dipper was lain and latched onto his wrists, bringing his arms to his sides. Instantly, the small boy howled, body shaking with pained tremors, dry heaving, as his broken, swollen arm was brought to his side. Distantly, through the loud ringing in the shells of his ears, the child swore he heard the demon cluck its tongue in disappointment, muttering something about “a broken toy.” 

Through the tears blurring his vision, Dipper saw the blurry shape of the demon approach his damaged appendage before laying a heavy, clawed hand on it. Dipper hissed in discomfort, but his eyes widened when a cool numbness spread throughout the limb, before another hand was placed on his chest, numbing his broken ribs. The boy eyed the demon dubiously, confusion apparent over his features. The demon leered, crooned a lustful, “I can’t have you breaking on me when the fun hasn’t even started yet, now can I?” Dipper blanched and the demon giggled, high pitched and warped and malevolent. Before Dipper could react, it dove down and brought its mouth to the boy’s nipple; warm breath fanning against the stiffening bud.

The demon’s tongue was hot, moist. It flicked across Dipper’s dusky left nipple causing the boy to inhale jerkily as heat pooled in his abdomen against his will. Dipper’s eyes fluttered closed and he exhaled heavily through his nose; he could feel the demon studying him, gauging his reactions. The tongue stroked again, teasing him, wetting the nipple, tasting it and Dipper let out a breathy little gasp all the while his insides were screaming to get away. But the boy’s mind was hazy, his body disoriented and aching all over, and the demon was much too strong, in addition to the fact that he was tethered to the ground. “Yes,” the demon purred softly, silkily, somehow having access to the boy’s thoughts, “succumb, precious child. I promise it will only make it ever more enjoyable for you.” At enjoyable, the demon pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the hardening bud and sucked, taking it into its mouth. The pleasure was almost instantaneous, ripping through the boy and causing him to emit a high pitched mewl, back arching; heat rippled through his gut, making the twelve-year-old all to aware of the straining in his pants—his face flushed in mortification and disgust at the prospect that he was enjoying the demon’s ministrations. At the admission, the demon leered and bit down lightly on the swollen nipple, eliciting a breathy scream from the boy. It shuddered at the sound and tweaked the other neglected nipple with an available hand, massaging it and rolling it and pinching it between its fingers as it sucked and nibbled and kissed the left. The sounds the boy was making were delicious, precious. It craved more. 

Dipper’s eyelids fluttered as a hazy fog descended on his mind. Everything was clouded—sounds rung in his ears, echoing; his thoughts were muted, muffled; his breathing was sharp and hissing and rattling through his chest. He couldn’t focus, not on the present, on that nightmarish olive creature crouching over him, peering down on him with swirling black and golden eyes, nor on the past. His emotions and heart rate were rocketing and he was shuddering, trembling, back pressed against the hardness of packed dirt. The world around him was warping, seeping and trickling ruby, amber, aquamarine, cobalt, amethyst, swirling together to weave a tapestry of saturation. The boy shook; a heat was spreading and rippling along every pore in his body.

With a final kiss on both nipples—Dipper reacted with a wanton keen—the demon turned its attention elsewhere, specifically the bulge that the boy was so very desperate to hide. Dipper’s breath hitched as he felt the demon’s hand stroking down his sides; the demon itself was pressing bruising kisses to his creamy skin, trailing them down the centre of his chest to his navel. The boy moaned softly. However, when hands found the waistband of his shorts, tugging gently, the boy’s fight or flight instinct kicked in when they began to pull downwards. The demon’s aura, Dipper could feel it invading his thoughts, tainting them, making him compliant, calm, and reactive to its ministrations. The twelve-year-old’s face contorted with a mixture of fear and disgust as he forced it out, then he thrashed, although injured and powerless, in an attempt to escape. Yet again, it was futile. The demon growled, vexed, and used one large hand to clamp around the boy’s middle, effectively pinning him and halting his feeble escape attempt. In a disappointed voice, it snarled, “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, pretty thing.” Still holding the terrified boy down, the demon reached into a pocket lining the swath of fabric at its waist and pulled out a handful of shimmering, crimson dust. Before the boy could react, it was blown in his face.

The effect was immediate.

Dipper’s body halted functioning. His desperate, futile, jerky movements became slow and sluggish; the feeling of moving through thick sludge accompanied the utter helplessness and hopelessness of the situation. His torso along with his arms and legs went utterly limp. No matter how much the boy concentrated on moving, on escaping, there was no such motion to be found. Panicked sweat beaded across the supple skin of the Pines boy’s forehead, the back of his neck. His tongue felt heavy, unable to form words, unable to form pleas and screams that could’ve brought help. The boy blinked, lethargic, agitation and perturbation evident in the way that his eyes flickered. 

_ No,  _ Dipper’s thoughts screamed. He found it hard to swallow, to draw in air; his mouth was suddenly dry.  _ No, not like this.  _ Dipper breathed in shakily; if not for the drug he would be shaking, trembling. Blackness clawed at the edges of his vision.

Above him, the olive demon sneered with the likeliness of a wolf. It descended, crawling on top of him, bringing its head to the junction between the boy’s shoulder and neck and inhaled deeply. When the boy didn’t shudder nor jerk away, the demon spoke. “That’s better,” it purred, a deep animalistic growl originating from its throat. It brought a large, clawed hand to the boy’s head and patted it as if Dipper were a pet. “Good boy.” The praise sent bile rocketing up the twelve-year-old’s throat. 

The demon’s smile was horrifying. Sick little whimpers and whines left the twelve-year-old’s mouth, his chocolate eyes wide in fear, tears pooling as the demon gently touched a stray curl with its clawed hand. Its other held the boy’s head firmly in place, the deadly tips of its blackened talons digging in ever so slightly to his scalp. One wrong move (but then again, he couldn’t move) and he’d be impaled. 

The incessant beat of Dipper’s heart went hand in hand with the stricken terror that clenched and twisted his insides and made sickness rise in his throat. When the demon hand’s went to rid the child of his shorts and undergarments, panic seized the Pines boy’s heart. With colossal effort, Dipper forced his mouth to form a single word. His voice was shaky at the best and ever so quiet. “N-no.” Even with the almost soundless murmur, the demon seemed to perk up, to hear his plea.

The demon turned its horrid eyes on the boy, its smile gone, leaving its face almost blank. Dipper’s heart plummeted and he swallowed the sickness rising in him. “What was that?” The demon growled softly. Fear caused Dipper to emit a series of broken whimpers; his vocabulary gone when he noticed that the demon’s usual golden iris had turned a bloody, crimson red. When Dipper didn’t reply, it laughed mirthlessly before roughly grabbing a handful of the boy’s curls and slamming the boy’s head violently onto the ground. An agonized whine slid past Dipper’s lips as he was held there; his scalp burned viciously from the pressure of the demon’s iron grip. 

Dipper couldn’t breathe as the demon leaned it, brushing its deadly fangs against the curvature of the boy’s ear. “Now then,” it snarled quietly, “when I ask you a question, I expect a prompt and verbal response. Understood?” 

The Pines boy forced the word out through his stiffening and bruising jaw. “Y-yes.”

Dipper had no time to scream as the demon raked its claws down the boy’s exposed sides. His back arched and his mouth opened in a pained gape, an agonized yelp tumbling forth from the boy’s mouth. The gashes were shallow, four of them consecutively, beading and dripping coppery blood. Dipper’s vision drifted in and out of blackness and the demon gripped the boy’s chin roughly in one hand, breath foul and smelling of corpses. “You will address me as Master, impudent, ungrateful brat,” it hissed vengefully. Its grip tightened to the point that Dipper thought that his jaw would be crushed under all of the pressure. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, blurring the boy’s vision.

_ (“YOU WILL DO AS I SAY,” the being boomed in sheer, vengeful rage, “OR THEY WILL BE THE FIRST TO PAY FOR YOUR MISTAKES.” The being—demon—quivered in anticipated anger. Its body was wholly black, black as the deepest, darkest pit of Hell, its eyes, a rich ruby. Its long and gangly arms slithered forward to seize the trembling boy below; one grabbing the boy’s chin, another, fisting in his curling, soft hair, the third, pinning his slim arms to his sides, and the final, grasping his abused throat. Below the demon, the boy cowered, a youthful faced marred by tear tracks and gashes among other markings. He shivered, fear holding him still; a cruel hand with an even crueler intent. The boy attempted to form words, but was not quick enough. The hand around his throat tightened to the point it cut of his supply of oxygen. He gasped; the demon watched in sick satisfaction and morbid curiosity as the boy’s face went pink, then blue until the demon felt the boy drifting off into the merciful clutches of sleep. Now that couldn’t do. The demon’s hand loosened and the boy sucked in a few shuddering breaths, body racking with silent sobs. When he had somewhat regained his footing, Dipper opened his mouth and let out a quiet-) _

“I’m sorry, M-muh-master.” Tears fell and the boy braced himself for more pain, more suffering, but flinched when he felt a hand stroking though his hair soothingly, mockingly tender. 

“Good boy,” the demon purred, appeased as of now. A clawed hand cupped the boy’s cheek, caressed it. The demon leaned in and brushed it’s revolting lips across the boy’s ear, smiling. Softly, it whispered, “Now show me how sorry you truly are.”

#  VI

Dipper’s heart ground to a complete and utter stop. His breathing hitched and he could hear the turbulent, unstable pounding of his heart echoing in the shells of his ears; he couldn’t so much as move when he was accommodated into a kneeling position by the demon’s magics. The absolute extremity of the situation hit him in the stomach with the force of a thousand punches when the sheaf of fabrics tied around the demon’s waist slid away to reveal its member, easily as long and thick as Dipper’s forearm, hard and dripping a green hued ejaculate. 

_ No. No. No, God no, please no, someone help me; I can’t do this. Please don’t make me do this _ . Dipper assumed the effects of the drug were wearing off when he began to tremble, to shake so violently, so savagely that he thought he would tip over if not for the demon’s meaty hand curled in his soft, brunette locks. His face had gone pallid, the entirety of his blood drained from his person. The Pines boy’s eyes widened and his lips screwed shut and he could not block out the tide of memories (brutal, horrible, painful memories) from arising and slamming back into him with such a force that the breath left his lungs with an audible whoosh.

(His captor smirked, moaned, carded a hand through the thick and curling locks of the boy who was currently on his knees, lips captured around the demon’s throbbing member. When a tongue, small and soft, darted around the underside of his cock, flicked across the slit, along a vein, the demon threw his head back and groaned lewdly before pulling out fully of that warm, hot wetness and slamming back in with a satisfied hiss. He could feel the muscles of his pet’s throat contacting and pulsating as the boy gagged, tears streaming as he began to fuck the boy’s face with such a ferocity that he wouldn’t be able to talk for the next couple of days, let alone weeks. The pleasure was ripping through the older being, sending sparks flying and whiting out his vision until the boy hollowed out his cheeks and sucked fiercely (just how he liked it) and he came with his pet’s name on his lips, emptying his load into the moist cavern. The boy swallowed timidly. However, when the boy attempted to pull off, believing he was done, the demon snarled angrily and pulled viciously on the child’s locks, causing him to emit a muffled, yet agonized whine. His punishing grip loosened only slightly when his pet began to suck again, gently coaxing his hardened member back into softness. The demon allowed the boy to pull off his limp cock, face visibly red and lips slightly parted, hair mused and tousled with crystalline tears pooling in the warm mocha pits of his eyes. Beautiful. Absolutely and utterly beautiful.)

(The demon’s hands were on him, roaming, cupping the seams of his balls in one hand, stroking his weeping cock in another, and tweaking his nipples with his third and fourth. The boy didn’t wish to enjoy the pleasurable feelings, wanted to feel disgusted and a blissful nothingness, but could only moan softly, back pressed against the silken cloth of the demon’s suit, as a gloved hand gently rolled a nipple in between the thumb and forefinger while the hand on his cock gave a simultaneous thrust. Nevertheless, the boy whimpered in discomfort when he felt the hand massaging his testicles lightly trace the cleft of his ass before plunging into the knuckle, bone dry without so much as a warning. The boy bucked. Before the boy could get used to the intrusion, the digit began to piston in and out, scraping the boy’s insides raw, a scorching pain bubbling from within. Alongside it, the hand twisted snugly around his cock began to violently stroke it while those around his nipples fondled them excruciatingly. The boy sobbed quietly, nose running and head feeling as though it were stuffed with cotton. When the finger raked against a place that sent white-hot sparks flashing before the boy’s vision, the child came with an overwhelmed keen, squeezing his eyes shut as the hands worked him through his orgasm. Only when the pleasure faded and the hands left the boy’s abused body did the child finally crumble in on himself, sobbing.)

Dipper felt himself lifted by the demon’s magics and adjusted into a kneeling position. The demon above him was smirking, sharp teeth visible through its peeled back lips. It’s hand tugged harshly on his chestnut locks, urging Dipper towards the dripping member. The boy whined through his clenched jaw. “Don’t try to resist, precious thing,” the demon rumbled smugly. With a free hand, it cupped the boy’s cheek before running the pad of its thumb lightly over Dipper’s plush pink lips, parting them. “It’ll only make things more painful for you.” With a flick of its wrist, Dipper was forced forward, knees dragging against dirt, until the olive demon’s member was rubbing against his face, leaving a trail of sickly lime ejaculate in its wake. Dipper forced himself not to gag as he turned to face it, frustrated and horrified and fearful tears gathering in his red rimmed eyes. The boy knew that there was no way out of this, so it was best to get it over with. Maybe if he pleased the demon enough, it would let him go and not alert him of his presence. Tentatively, Dipper wrapped his tiny hands around the demon’s cock and began to stroke it lightly, letting his thumbs brush up against the oozing slit every second pump. But the demon above him was impatient (it growled) and wished to feel the wet warmness of the boy’s mouth suckling around his dick instead of those pitiful hands, so it roughly grabbed a handful of the boy’s silken hair, the pain making the boy’s mouth open in a surprised yelp, and shoved its cock deep into the confines of Dipper’s throat and mouth. The demon moaned at the hot and tight feeling; it couldn’t get enough of those throat convulsions that sent more heat rocketing up to its abdomen. With the boy in its control, the demon began a punishing pace.

Dipper couldn’t breathe. The phallus was so very big and shoved almost entirely down his throat to the point that the demon’s bushy green hair was tickling his nose. The boy’s eyes watered and he felt so weak, so, so weak, that he couldn’t fight back. He was trapped, the demon’s hand pulling on his hair, the other holding the back of his head, as his face was fucked roughly. His throat and mouth were stretched open so wide that Dipper thought his skin would split apart and fray. Even when the demon pulled out to push back in, it didn’t do so fully, so the boy was left without air. The twelve-year-old emitted a muffled sob. Even when  _ he _ had forced the boy to suck and pleasure  _ his _ member,  _ he _ cared to the degree that Dipper was comfortable and not being forced into unconsciousness. Presently, the boy’s vision was swimming with blackness; his lungs burned horribly and the child was sure his face was turning purple. He heard the demon above him moan and Dipper prayed that its release was close. But the demon kept fucking and the boy couldn’t breathe—he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he COULDN’T, HE COULDN’T—and the child believed he was going to die like this, choking on a demon’s cock in the middle of an apocalypse. 

Something crashed through the underbrush.

“Eightball! Eightball, where in the nine hells are you?”

A demon burst into the clearing. Its sunken, yellow eyes were panicked and its mouth was agape, its puny hands shaking frantically. A keyhole shaped cavity was imbedded in its large, aqua forehead. It panted, out of breath, before raising its head. Its eyes widened at the scene before it.

Eightball had a child—one that appeared no older than twelve years of age—sobbing, trembling, on its knees with the olive demon’s cock thrusting punishingly into his small mouth. Eightball’s hands were fisted deep into the soft, delectable-looking chocolate curls that framed the boy’s round, ruddy face in gentle cascades. 

The aqua demon blanched. Usually, the demon would be glad, giddy even, to join Eightball in its conquest of the child; however, the circumstances at the moment were rather dire and the demon preferred to not be torn to pieces and spit roasted by Master Cipher. 

“Eightball,” the now sky blue demon bit out. 

Eightball’s head jerked up at the sound of its name and its gaze found the aqua demon. Its mouth broke into a toothy grin. “Ah, Keyhole, come to join me?” It smirked before adding, “This one is rather good with its mouth.” Keyhole observed as Eightball patted the child’s cheek, mockingly tender.

Keyhole shook its head begrudgingly. “Not today,” he replied hastily, “as Master Cipher has requested (ordered, it meant by that) both your and my presence at the Fearamid; he wishes to dish out territories to his faithful henchmaniacs. And I fear we are already late due to your,” Keyhole swallowed thickly, “affair.”

Eightball stiffened. Master Cipher was not known for his mercy, and a delay was sure to earn both him and Keyhole a punctual punishment. And yet, Eightball appeared sullen, hating to leave the child that pleased it so. However, the demon still straightened, pushed the child roughly off his erect phallus, and clipped the fabrics around his nether region, hiding it from view. “Of course,” Eightball rumbled. “I wouldn’t want to displease Master Cipher and I would gladly accept a territory, if he is so generous to bestow one on me.” The demon paused, appearing thoughtful. Its gaze drifted to the child curled in a ball by its massive feet and the demon smirked. “Do you believe Master will overlook our tardiness if we bring him a gift?”

Keyhole hummed. A sheen of sweat was visible on its forehead. “Perhaps. It is worth a try. Even if we are not fully absolved, I believe a gift could potentially lessen our punishment.” 

Eightball sneered, crouched down to pet the boy’s hair. “Did you hear that, precious thing?” It crooned. “You are to be a gift to Master Cipher. I am sure he would appreciate a delectable little thing like you.” Keyhole watched as the boy went taut, all blood draining from his face, before he began to tremble and terrified little whimpers spilt from his plush little mouth. The child attempted to sit up; his eyes had gone glassy and tears poured from his doe eyes. Keyhole had to admit, the child was adorable. Perchance Master Cipher may allow him to use the child once he has grown tired of him. The demon dearly hoped so.

The boy clutched Eightball’s leg in his small hands, eyes pleading. Tears streamed down his face and the shivering intensified. “Puh-please,” the boy murmured pitifully. The child’s voice was hoarse, petrified. “Please don’t take me to him. Please, I won’t survive.” The boy sobbed, body shaking with the force of his cries.

Eightball leered and looked down at the child disdainfully. “And why should I listen to you, darling boy?” The demon leaned down to grip the boy’s curls rather harshly and force him on his feet. The child cried out in agony, hands shooting up to try and force the demon’s grasp away. The boy shook, whimpering and crying when Eightball’s clutch tightened. “ANSWER ME, IMPUDENT BRAT!” The demon roared, shaking the child severely before tossing him onto the ground carelessly. The boy yelped on impact. “ANSWER ME!”

The boy accommodated himself into a kneeling position, bowing his head and shivering. “I’m suh-sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he sobbed, “I’ll do whatever you want.” He clutched Eightball’s leg tightly, eyelids fluttering closed in utter exhaustion. “Just don’t take me to him,” he murmured weakly.

Eightball seemed to calm down enough to stroke a soothing hand through the child’s hair. “Not convincing enough, my child,” the demon whispered darkly. Within a split second, the child was in its arms, shirtless and shaking, the demon’s hand sliding over the boy’s mouth to muffle his cries. The boy attempted to fight futilely, but in the end, all he did was tire himself out. The boy’s shivering lessened but the tears still streamed down his face. Eightball cooed, rocking the child back and forth. “Hush child, all will be well when you are with Master Cipher. Close your eyes, you are safe.” Utter lies, meant to placate the boy, calm him, trick him. Cipher despised humans, sans his soulmate. The boy would most likely end up as a slave or a sex toy, or insane, locked up in the bowels of the Fearamid. And yet, the child yawned, his exhaustion, as well as a smidge of Eightball’s magics, gently forcing him into a numb, dreamless slumber. 

_ Naïve little child _ , Eightball thought bitterly, a cruel smile curving its lips.

“Shall we?” Keyhole asked, breaking the silence.

Eightball glanced up and sneered. “Lead the way.”

The two demons began to make their way back to the Gravity Falls Square, where Cipher was awaiting them. 

“Do you think the kid has encountered Master before?” Keyhole asked, eyes trained on the sleeping child. The thick woods around the two demons thinned out as they made their way closer to “civilization”, as the meat sacks like to call it.

“Hmm?” Eightball inquired.

“I mean, he was pretty adamant on not seeing Master.” Keyhole stepped over a jutting root.

“That could very well be.” Eightball said nonchalantly with a shrug of its shoulders. 

The hoot and holler of their comrades began to arise, twisting through the looming trees and to their ears. Eightball and Keyhole picked up the pace, not wishing to be too late. First, the town square came into view, then their fellow Henchmaniacs: Pyronica, Pacifier, Zanthar, Teeth, Amorphous Shape, Hectorgon, and Kryptos, and finally Master Cipher, floating above the masses giddily, a psychotic smirk plastered across his face as he tossed around a golden statue of an older meatsack. Nervously, Keyhole stepped out of the underbrush, followed by Eightball who kept the child from view. 

The Henchmaniacs and their master had their backs to them, so Keyhole cleared its throat anxiously. “Master Cipher,” it addressed, “I found Eightball as you ordered.”

Cipher and the rest of the Henchmaniacs spun around. To Keyhole and Eightball’s utter relief, Cipher didn’t appear vexed or angered in the slightest. A wolfish grin spread across his face as he floated down to the ground, hands clasped behind his back. “Well done, Keyhole,” he stated, smirking. “Now we can finally get this party started,” Cipher announced, addressing the whole of his servants. They whooped and gathered in a circle around him, eagerness evident on their faces, anticipating the rewards they would be bestowed. Eightball and Keyhole remained on the outskirts, the former attempting to hide the unnecessary child so that it could keep him.

Cipher launched himself into the air once again and did a full circle, surveying his Henchmaniacs. Much to his annoyance (he was not a patient demon in the slightest), he noticed Eightball and Keyhole hanging back. “Eightball, Keyhole, you idiots, get over here,” he hissed. A tinge of red invaded his pristine gold form. The two demons knew not to ignore his commands, so they scurried over. That’s when Cipher and his servants noticed the small, meek figure curled in Eightball’s large arms. 

Eightball began to sweat, clutching the child roughly to its body. It heard the child whimper slightly when its claws began to pierce its skin, so the demon loosened its grip. Before it, Cipher stepped down onto the ground once again, his eyes trained on the child, face expressionless, and instinctively, the other servants parted, making a path for their master. Keyhole shivered and attempted to make itself smaller. Emotionless Cipher was usually not a good sign. Master Cipher’s dress shoes clicked loudly against the pavement, the sound amplified by the absolute silence that accompanied it. The golden demon halted in front of Eightball, eyes questioning. “Speak,” the demon declared calmly. 

Keyhole smiled timorously and sputtered, “Uh, we found him in the woods and thought you might like him to be a slave or a pet of whatnot.” As an afterthought, Keyhole added a “Master Cipher.” 

Cipher remained silent, then murmured a soft, “Put him on the ground.”

Eightball scrambled to comply, almost dropping the sleeping child. It lowered the limp body to the ground gently before taking a couple hasty steps backward.

“Wake him up.”

Eightball’s heart was pounding. “O-of course, Master Cipher.” With a flick of its wrist, the boy was hurtling into consciousness, awaking with a half-whimper, half-gasp. The child sat up slowly, groaned, rubbed his eyes with skinny and bruised hands. That’s when the boy seemed to notice the myriad of grotesque and brightly coloured limbs surrounding him. He began to tremble, then shake, and then sob. Eightball watched in silence as its master stalked over to the boy and crouched down, tenderness and adoration vivid in his cerulean eyes and he cupped the boy’s face gently. 

“Sapling,” he cooed and the boy wailed.

#  VII

He awoke gasping—breath shuddering, trembling, ripped from within a place that was carved wholly by fear. A name remained on his lips, burdening them, wetting them. The boy palpitated, vision blurry, and adjusted his aching and bruised body into a sitting position, groaning softly as his temples throbbed. Slowly, he shook his head, attempting to clear his mind before he wiped at his heavily bagged eyes with slender and battered fingers. Dipper yawned quietly, sluggishly, and blinked, noticing a pair of long, curvaceous fuchsia legs tipped with a white fire in front of him.

The boy jerked back. His heart pulsed haphazardly and Dipper found himself taking in lungfuls of shuddering breaths as panic surged through him. The twelve-year-old’s stomach clenched and he felt like he might throw up; his body cold with dread. Dipper’s throat tightened, fear choking him as he forced his head to raise, to meet the eye of the demoness standing before him. Her pink lips curled back into a cruel sneer. Dipper’s blood froze in his veins. His mouth dry, the child looked around, eyes widening as he took in the array of misshapen, mangled demons, each of them smirking at him, eye or eyes gleaming. He didn’t dare to move, instead, he shrank back, terror swelling. Panic seized his brain and his face drained of blood; he felt himself shaking uncontrollably as morbid little whimpers slid out of his plush lips. 

Crisp, echoing footsteps sounded from behind him and it took the entirety of Dipper’s will not to scream. He clenched his eyes closed and curled in on himself, trembling. The boy almost cried out when he felt a gentle, gloved hand circle around his chin and tenderly tip it up. ( _ Hands were pushing his chin up, hands were touching his chest, hands were in his hair pulling while something so very wrong split him apart. _ ) Another hand brushed over his lips, his cheekbone, carding through his curling hair. A small, pleased sigh escaped the being ( _ demon _ ).

“Sapling,” the being cooed sweetly, softly. Dipper flinched when he felt a hand brushing his bangs out of his forehead, revealing his soul mark for all to see. A tense murmur went through the crowd of demons surrounding them. Two hands lovingly framed the boy’s face as a single tear leaked from his eye and Dipper sobbed. The being shushed him. “Don’t cry, my pet.” A finger drifted over his closed eyes, brushed against his lashes.

Dipper’s eyes fluttered open, chocolate orbs meeting affectionate, cerulean ones. The demon’s mouth curved into a fond smile, one reserved only for the boy. Before Dipper could react, the demon’s lips were on his own, slotting against them, melding with them. Under the influence of the drug, the child melted into the kiss, tears streaming down his face, gasping softly as he felt the demon’s tongue probing at his lips. Then the demon’s hands were in Dipper’s hair, tugging gently, reverently while a tongue swept in, exploring the cavity of the boy’s mouth, tracing his teeth. When the demon pulled back, Dipper shuddered, panting quietly. 

The demon cupped the side of Dipper’s face. “How I’ve missed you, my precious child.” Dipper’s mind was confused and the boy leaned into the soft and gentle touch, welcoming it. The boy exhaled with a shudder as a pair of smooth lips swept over his curving shoulder blade, down his chest, over an abused nipple. Dipper moaned breathily as he felt a tongue peek out to gently lap at the sensitive flesh. A soothing hand combed through the boy’s unruly curls at the same time the demon drew back to inspect his possession. (Dipper inwardly whimpered when the demon’s pleasurable ministrations halted.)

Bill’s hands were gentle ( _ For now,  _ a voice hissed in Dipper’s ear); his long and dexterous fingers tilting the boy’s head left and right, up and down with soft nudges. Dipper’s body was pliant in the demon’s grip. The traumatizing events that had occurred earlier that day and the paralyzing drugs had utterly drained him. Exhausted leaden in his bones and senses, the boy’s eyes glazed over and he felt his eyelids slipping closed, even with the imminent sense of danger hanging over him like an axe. A task as simple as thinking felt like pushing himself through a thick sludge, and the boy was too tired to do such a thing. A little sleepy sigh found its way out of Dipper’s mouth and the demon above him cooed quietly, pressing a loving kiss against his cheek with a “Relax, little tree.” 

The boy obeyed the one simple command and collapsed into the demon who sprung numerous limbs to tenderly rock him. However, a part of the boy whose mind wasn’t addled by the mind-hazing drugs or the comforting, yet possessive touches of the demon screamed at him to  _ WAKE THE HELL UP.  _ He was falling deeper and deeper into the demon’s web with every passing moment and soon enough, he wouldn’t be able to climb out. It roared  _ ESCAPE BEFORE IT’S TOO GODDAMN LATE.  _ Yet the sense of eneveration was increasing and the fighter part of Dipper was sure that it was the demon’s doing—draining the energy from his person so he’d never be able to escape his grasp. The twelve-year-old was overcome with a flood of lassitude when his eyes flicked open, coming face to face with the hazy, vermillion and scarlet hue of the sky. Dipper let out a heavy breath. The dire reality of the situation became clear—a heavy punch in the chest. He was too weak to escape, too tired, and soon enough, the demon would whisk him away to a place where he’d never be able to escape. There, the demon would have access to the boy whenever he pleased, to do whatever he pleased, and the boy wouldn’t be able to raise so much of a finger about it. Petrified tears pricked his eyes when he thought of what the demon had done to him in the past, and the promise of what he could do to him in the future. 

And then a numb, horrible feeling spread from the tip of his toes to his chest when the thought hit him. 

_ Mabel.  _

Dipper hyperventilated. Mabel was out there with a plethora of sadistic, murderous, malevolent demons hell-bent on finding human prey to torture and have their way with. ( _ Just like Eightball had done to him.)  _ Mabel—bright, brilliant,  _ amazing _ Mabel—wouldn’t last so much as a day out there. She would be ripped into bloody shreds and Dipper was helpless to stop it. The male twin was horrified and emitted a desperate sob. He  _ had  _ to find a way to—

A quiet, although utterly vicious snarl of pure rage slammed Dipper back into reality. Blinking heavily, the boy paled significantly and stiffened when he felt the demon’s gloved hand ghosting over one of the bloody slashes defacing his back. The boy couldn’t help it when a frightened whimper slid from between his lips. He could only watch in complete trepidation as the demon—it appeared in slow motion to Dipper—flushed an unholy, terrifying black, the colour leaching from the tip of his golden locks to the deathly tips of his pointed dress shoes. When the demon turned to stare at Dipper, his eyes were scarlet. 

The boy’s throat constricted and he shrunk back into himself, shivering and sniffling. When the demon stood up, it was a jerky, angry movement. The arms holding him vanished and Dipper was dumped onto the ground, landing on his shattered arm. There was a dull spark of pain and the boy emitted a quiet sound of discomfort—Eightball’s spell was beginning to wear off.

Cipher’s minions were silent now, the anticipation and terror in the air so thick it was oppressive. For Dipper, it was hard to breathe. With a gaze promising death and the worst kind of suffering, Bill Cipher turned to face Eightball and Keyhole. A disturbing, peturbing grin broke out across the demon’s lips, not so much as a smile but a pulling of inky skin over bared white teeth. His eyes were solely trained on Eightball at that moment. The demon’s voice was soft, contrasting with the hellish atmosphere. “You touched my pet.” A statement, not a question, not an assumption.

Eightball shuddered while Keyhole darted behind the taller being and whimpered. Eightball nervously inhaled, trepidation evident in its movements. An anxious frown broke out across its repulsive face. There was no point in lying, after all, Cipher was a dream demon, a powerful one at that, who could tear into the olive demon’s thoughts without so much as a blink. “I did, Master Cipher,” it said calmly, yet its eyes and demeanor screamed fear, “and I apologize immensely for my wrongdoings.”

“As do I,” Keyhole piped in, apprehensive. 

The dream demon’s laugh was mirthless and bone chilling. He took a shaky lunge forward as Eightball and Keyhole took a stammering step back. Black, obsidian claws extended from his knuckles, punching holes through his silk dress gloves. Dipper, trembling and curled up on the ground, squeezed his eyes shut. “You hurt my pet.” Cipher’s voice was guttural. 

Eightball’s chuckle was forced. “I-it was a simple misunderstanding, Master; I can assure you,” Eightball stuttered. Dipper opened his eyes for a second, taking in the scene. Eightball ( _ Something inside Dipper curled up and died at the mention of the demon)  _ was sweating profusely now, white as a ghost, Keyhole clutching at its leg with twitching hands. “He was trying to escape our clutches—I was just trying to capture him for you when my claws broke out and cut him.” Eightball swallowed visibly. “I cannot tell you how terribly sorry I am, Master Cipher.” 

“I tried to get him to stop, Muh-Master,” Keyhole added. “But Eightball here was too engulfed in its own pleasure to know reason.”

At that, the dream demon’s scarlet eyes narrowed and he paused. Shaking, temper barely reined in, he growled through gritted teeth, “What exactly did you do to him, Eightball?” 

Eightball shook, face deathly pale. At Cipher’s feet, Dipper quivered in apprehension, face buried in the crook of his elbow. The boy could hear fumbling, a whole lot of it, and half-formed words. He could feel the olive demon’s fear.

Cipher snarled at his henchman’s stumbling. “Fine then,” he hissed, “If you idiots won’t talk, I’ll get my answers elsewhere.”

When Cipher kneeled before him, Dipper froze and snivelled quietly, terrified. A gloved hand reached out to card gently through his tangled hair in a manner that would have been comforting, if it had come from a different being. Dipper fought to leash in his urge to flinch; it would only end up with him punished. Yet he couldn’t stop the sob that flew from his mouth, muffled by his elbow. The twelve-year-old knew the demon heard it all the same. A small, sad sigh escaped Cipher, who lightly tilted Dipper’s head up with two fingers. The boy didn’t fight the movement. Dipper blinked, once, twice, and met the softening scarlet eyes of the demon. Cipher gently swiped a gloved thumb across the boy’s plush bottom lip and nausea twisted Dipper’s stomach at the touch. 

“Do not fear me, darling child,” Cipher crooned sweetly. Dipper trembled. The demon’s hands were feverishly warm on the boy’s cold skin, cupping his cheeks. ( _ The boy fought the urge to smack them off and scrub his skin until it was blistering and red. _ )“Please tell me what they did to you, so I may punish them accordingly,” the demon said. A note of possessiveness entered his voice. “No one—except me—deserves to touch your blessed skin.” 

Dipper was delirious. He felt exposed and so very tainted with an overall sense of confusion muddling his thoughts. The boy wanted to run away and hide and never have to feel those dreadful hands touching him again. Uncertain and scared tears leaked from the corners of the boy’s chocolate eyes and the demon leaned in to kiss them away, lips blazingly hot. A part of the boy wanted to lean in to the touch, another wanted to jolt back and run. A series of disgusted and unpleasant shudders racked through the boy’s frail body. 

There was an overarching fear that if he confessed what Eightball did to him, said demon would spend an eternity torturing him once it was free of his punishment, that it would make the boy relive the terrible moment time and time again. And that if he told Cipher, he would be coerced into remembering every single tainting touch and kiss.

Dipper was so frightened and distressed that he couldn’t seem to form any words. His breaths were coming in quick pants interspersed with huge, awful shuddering inhales.

The dream demon seemed to take note of the fact that the boy was utterly miserable; he inquired in the gentlest tone possible, ( _ He didn’t want what Dipper experienced with Eightball to break the boy, after all, he was the only one who could do so. The boy was his.)  _ “Let me into your mind, my pet?” The boy’s eyes fluttered closed and tears streamed down pert cheeks, a muscle feathering slightly in his rosy cheek. Bill memorised the motion with a pleased shiver. “It won’t hurt you one bit,” he continued. “I only wish to observe what they did to you, so I may justify their mutilation.” The Pines boy shivered the words. Out of the corner of his eye, Dipper was aware that Keyhole and Eightball sucked in horrified gasps, but the demons deigned to say nothing. 

The boy was conflicted. Eyes downcast, he worried his bottom lip and held his broken arm so hard that the knuckles of his hand turned white. Dipper sucked in a pained breath but other than that sound, remained silent. Bill sighed and pressed a warm hand on the pale curve of a shoulder. “Please, Sapling.”

Dipper swallowed. The demon was acting caring and benevolent now, but that could change within a blink of an eye. Cipher was asking for his permission, yet it was a ruse. The demon would enter his mind even if he answered no. Bill didn’t take no for an answer. He would rip through Dipper’s thoughts and make him recall every painful moment, perhaps even put the most agonizing ones on an endless loop as punishment. 

Bill asking was a semblance of choice and nothing more.

At least if he answered yes, he wouldn’t have to suffer.

Dipper squeezed his eyes shut and there was a—barely even there—nod of the child’s head. Cipher was then grinning and cupping the boy’s face as he tore through the recent events that inhabited the forefront of his Sapling’s mindscape. 

Animosity and fury caused the demon to let out a hellish roar.

Cipher watched, first with displeased interest, then with unyielding anger—a bright flame that burned even brighter with each fleeting second, as Eightball did what it wished with the weak and frail boy: licking and lapping and nibbling at the sensitive pink buds—buds that Bill had devoured to the point that the boy had hoarsely screamed his name and orgasmed untouched, suckling his Sapling’s flesh—marking the boy as Eightball’s even when he belonged solely to Bill, and then the worst feat of all. Cipher was hissing as he watched the scene unfold: Eightball shoving its disgusting, monstrous, revolting phallus down his pet’s carefully conditioned throat, pleasuring itself without a thought to his pet’s comfort. He saw the wide, fearful eyes of his pet, the tears falling from his eyes, the way the child’s body shook and screamed desperately for air. Bill’s muscles tensed painfully. Eightball had thought that the boy belonged to it—that Dipper Pines was its pet, its possession to hurt and love and break and fuck. 

_ No. _

_ Mason Pines belonged to Bill Cipher in every  _ fucking _ meaning of the word. _

Cipher swelled with a horrible wrath as he snapped back to the real world. 

Dipper cowered at the demon’s feet, the demon who raised wholly black eyes to the olive green being who had made the mistake of (hurting, touching, raping) his pet. 

“You fucked my pet,” he snarled and began to stalk over to Eightball, but paused mid stride. The demon turned to face the boy shivering on the earth. ( _ The boy had seen and experienced enough for that day _ .) With a vicious wave of his clawed hand, a blackness encompassed Dipper’s vision and stifled his hearing. Scentless breath tickled the boy’s ear, accompanied by an angered whisper of “You don’t want to see this, kid.” Vaguely, Dipper was aware that he was trembling, that there were sounds of agonized screaming, flesh tearing, and bones crunching. All of which, he knew, were caused by Bill.

#  VIII

Cipher was filled with an inexplicable rage.

His henchman had the gall to touch something that clearly belonged to him and him alone, a child blessed by the stars above and the only one which could heighten his power so that it was akin to a god’s. The dream demon bared his teeth in a feral smile and grabbed the demon by the throat, claws puncturing leather-like flesh, making sure that it damn-well hurt and would leave brutal scars. Yet, as much as he wanted to kill Eightball, he knew that he needed the demon to help him secure his claim over the Earth and the galaxies they were to take over. Afterwards, however, Bill would kill him, and he would make sure to draw out every last scream.

With a brutal thrust of his hands, Cipher had Eightball sailing through the air and slamming into the ruins of the Gravity Falls’s Church with an impact that rattled the foundations on which the town stood. Eightball screamed, eyes pleading, but Bill was far from over.

The demon teleported—air rippling around him—to his fallen henchman and crushed the bones in Eightball’s arms with merely a blink. Bill observed with sadistic glee as Eightball’s arms sagged, little pieces of bones jutting out in all the wrong directions. The demon howled, high-pitched and strung out. Bill had already heard enough. Using his heightened powers, the demon pried the olive demon’s mouth open wide, so very wide, that it dislocated its jaw. Another wave of hideous cries hit Bill’s ear and the dream demon growled. Cipher reached into Eightball’s mouth and latched his fingers around its slimy, moss green tongue and pulled it so harshly and brutally that it was ripped straight from its confines. Eightball shrieked and wrestled against the invisible binds holding it to the church. 

The tongue was still hot and twitching in Bill’s grasp. Warm, black blood dribbled down and between Cipher’s fingers. With a disgusted sneer, blue fire raced up the dream demon’s fingers and burned the muscle to ashes within a matter of seconds. 

Tears slid from Eightball’s namesake eyes and agonized sounds flew from its mouth. 

“None of that, now,” Bill chided with a hideous leer. With a snap of his fingers, Eightball’s mouth as well as his nose was magiced shut, preventing any sounds and airflow from entering or leaving. When Eightball realized that he couldn’t breathe, Bill leaned in and whispered, “Now you know how my pet felt with your phallus down his throat.” Cipher’s eyes lit up. “And, that reminds me-“ The dream demon’s hands began to sensually make their way down Eightball’s chest, tracing the flat panes of its stomach. They reached up to tweak the olive demon’s nipples harshly, pinch them, before falling back down. Eightball grimaced and emitted a muffled whimper when his Master’s hands found the sheaf of fabrics tied hastily around its waist. With a flick of his wrist, Cipher burned the skirt to ashes, revealing a large, hardening cock dripping a sage colored ejaculate. Bill gave it a couple brutal, yet pleasurable strokes that had the olive demon moaning despite its current predicament. 

Bill sneered and peered up at Eightball underneath lowered lashes. “Brace yourself,” was the only warning he gave his henchman before a thick iron pole materialized and slammed into Eightball’s arsehole with no preperation; the demon screamed. Again and again and again it thrust in and out at a punishing pace, all the while Bill observed with a delighted smirk lining his face. When Eightball’s suppressed screams began to bore the dream demon, Bill reached down and ripped the demon’s phallus from his body with a flick of his claws.

Eightball’s screams increased like birdsong.

Making sure his henchman was watching, Bill gave the severed appendage a sensual lick before removing the magic that kept Eightball’s mouth sealed shut and shoving the phallus down the olive demon’s unprepared throat. With a blink of his eye, Eightball’s mouth was clamped closed once again. His henchman was shaking hard, eyes bulging and begging for mercy, for air. 

Air wasn’t a necessity for a demon to survive, it was a privilege, and one that Bill wasn’t willing to give. 

Bill had Eightball accomodated onto his knees before him and patted the demon on the cheek. “You shouldn’t have touched my pet,” he whispered with a content expression before digging his clawed fingers into the demon’s eye sockets and tearing out the namesake eight balls. A disgusting black ichor erupted from the empty sockets and coated both the demons. Eightball howled in utter agony.

The enchantment keeping the demon’s mouth closed slid away. “My eyes, my eyes, _ myeyesmyeyes _ ,” Eightball chanted and thick globs of blood were falling like tears. 

“I SHOULD KILL YOU FOR TOUCHING WHAT IS MINE,” Cipher snarled. Thinking about anyone at all touching his beautiful soulmate was enough to send Cipher into a fit of rage. 

_ DIPPER WAS HIS. _

Eightball moaned pitifully and collapsed onto its side when Bill’s magics released him. Bill inhaled deeply and regained his composure; the demon’s hellish colouring becoming a bright gold once more. “But I have need of your service, although I am loath to admit it.” The demon stalked forward and grabbed Eightball by its ear and jerked its head upward. “I am a merciful Master,” Cipher hissed, “yet if I ever hear of or see you putting one of your meaty paws on my possession, I will not hesitate to torture you until you beg for death.” Cipher’s gaze was cold. “You should thank me.”

Cipher released Eightball’s ear and wiped his hands on his golden dress jacket with a disgusted curl of his lip. Eightball fell to the ground with little ceremony; it cried out in pain and immediately began to kiss Cipher’s shoes reverently. “Thank you Master, thank you so very much. I’m sorry. I deserved what I got and I am ever grateful for your kindness,” the demon blubbered foolishly. Cipher nodded along with the fallen Henchman, a cruel glint in his eyes. 

“Get up,” Cipher ordered once his crony finished. Eightball was quick to comply. He stared the demon down with an icy glare. “You will apologize to my pet.” Cipher waved his hand and the enchantment that kept his pet in the dark lifted.

Dipper blinked owlishly, then whimpered when the large, olive demon turned to face him. Blood trickled from the holes where its namesake eyes had once resided. The twelve-year-old flinched as it slithered to him on its hands and knees; Dipper tried to crawl backwards to escape it only to hit a tree. The boy yelped and visibly curled in on himself, trembling hard. 

“You scare the child,” Cipher growled, fists balling.

Eightball flinched at the threat in his Master’s words. The demon’s voice was a quiet rumble, “Do not fear me, precious thing.” A quiet sob emitted from Dipper at that moment. A mantra of  _ getawaygetawaygetaway  _ played in an endless loop within his mind. “I mean you no harm, child.” A pause. “I am a lowly creature and I did not and still do not deserve to touch your holy, star-blessed flesh. I am deeply sorry to have harmed and taken you against your will.”  _ Lieslieslies  _ took over. Dipper winced when the demon bowed its head and its revolting breath washed over him. Dipper grew pale as the demon lumbered away and kneeled before Cipher _.  _ “Please accept my humblest apologies, Master, both to you and your pet.”

Cipher shook his head with anger in his eyes. “No,” he said coldly. “You do not deserve my acceptance, let alone my pet’s.” Dipper watched, shivering, as he turned to face the fuchsia demoness lingering in the crowd. “Pyronica,” he called, “you will dole out the remainder of Eightball’s punishment.” A small, awful smile. “Make sure it leaves a permanent mark.”

Pyronica’s pink lips parted into a heartless, gleeful smirk. “As my Master wills it.” She turned to face her punished comrade before a bright, flaming whip materialized within her closed hand. She brought it down with a crack on Eightball’s back, who screamed. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” Pyronica purred as she inspected the whip. Eightball let out a cry of confirmation. “Good,” she said with a small smile, “because you are going to spend a long time getting to know my trusty friend.” With a flick of her wrist, Eightball was lifted into the air, surrounded by a pink aura. She inclined her head to Cipher and flew off towards the floating pyramid in the sky with Eightball in tow. 

Cipher spun on Keyhole, who was cowering and shaking with his puny arms raised. “Don’t think I forgot about you,” he hissed and flew forward. He pinned the demon against the tree by his fat, pudgy throat. “You stood idly by while Eightball had its way with my pet. I should maim you too.”

“Mercy, Master, mercy,” the little blue creature cried.

Cipher barked out a laugh. “You believe you deserve mercy after what you did?” A clawed finger pressed into Keyhole’s forehead, just enough to hurt, but not pierce. Dipper winced and closed his eyes, prepared for the inevitable. 

But it never came.

“Fine,” Bill snarled and his claws retreated, “you will go on unscathed. My pet’s identity to you was unknown.” He turned to face the whole of his henchmen. “But take this lesson as a warning—for all of you—any attempt to touch or even talk with my pet without my explicit permission will result in swift and painful punishment. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master Cipher,” the cronies stated in unison.

“Good,” Cipher replied, his expression akin to that of a pleased cat. 

#  IX

Dipper lay curled up on the dirt ground, shuddering and sweating due to the hellish heat that had accompanied the demon’s from the Nightmare Realm. A mortified flush stained the boy’s cheeks red since he had realized that his bare body was very much on display for the rest of Cipher’s henchmen to admire. He attempted to adjust his position to hide his nakedness, but ended up crying out when agonizing waves of pain laced through his chest and shattered arm. A small, pained whimper found its way out of his mouth as he remained limp, chest rising and falling with aching breaths. 

Crisp footsteps emanated from beside him. Dipper turned his head slightly, watching with defeated eyes as Bill Cipher approached him. Uneasiness and fear roiled around in his gut. The dream demon fell to his knees beside the twelve-year-old and pressed a gentle hand to the side of the boy’s reddened face. The boy winced. Bill frowned. 

“I’m sorry, Sapling,” the demon murmured, stroking a hand through Dipper’s unruly curls. “I was foolish not to have healed you earlier, but I will do so now. I don’t want you to be in pain.” The demon feigned concern, but Dipper knew it was just to mask his obsessive and possessive tendencies regarding the boy. Only Cipher could hurt him, only Cipher could lay a hand on him. Any mark caused by a different being must be erased so he would learn to appreciate the demon’s touch, crave it. 

Dipper groaned in discomfort when the demon flattened a soothing hand on his shattered appendage. Bill shushed him. Instantly, a gentle, honeyed warmth spread through the arm, both numbing and hot simultaneously. The boy’s eyes widened in awe as he watched the appendage stitch itself back together: the shards of bone melding with one another, the bruised skin flushing a healthy tan, the multitude of angry cuts and scrapes sewing together to reveal fresh flesh. The boy couldn’t feel the process of it happening, the entire limb was senseless, and that he was thankful for. When his arm was adequately healed, the demon moved on to his chest and repeated the same process. Afterwards, miniscule cuts and bruises were healed, even the bags underneath his eyes. 

Dipper felt great; his mind was clear, the drug having been flushed from his system, and there was a prominent strength that made itself known in his bones. A small, nagging thought pulled at the back of his mind, rebirthed as his strength had been.  _ Escape, escape, escape,  _ it hissed,  _ run, run, run to the Shack. The wards will keep you safe from him. Gather your strength. Find your family. Fight back. Fight back. Fight back. Send him to the hellhole from which he came.  _ The twelve-year-old paused, contemplating the notion. If he did get up and run, Cipher wouldn’t be expecting it. But, Cipher was adaptable and would likely react within a couple of seconds, coming after the boy himself with the aid of his goons. Dipper’s brows furrowed. He would have to use his extensive knowledge of the Gravity Falls’s woods to gain an upper hand on the demons, yet that wouldn’t necessarily slow them down all that much. Cipher had been trapped within Gravity Falls for millennia; he would know every nook and cranny of the place. However, if Dipper were able to use the journals ( _ Shoot,  _ he thinks _ , the Journals! Where are they? He racks his brain hard, then it hits him: they’re in his backpack, which was discarded during his encounter with Eightball _ !) and find a spell within it that could effectively stun a near-omniscient demon and his henchman for a few moments, the boy could potentially pull it off—

_ No, you can’t,  _ another voice growled.  _ You really think that you can outrun him, let alone cower in the Shack? He’ll break the wards with a flick of his wrist. Besides, he’s the living embodiment of the All Seeing Eye. You aren’t safe anywhere; he’ll find you. Remember what he did to you. He’ll do much worse if you try to run; maybe he’ll even take it out on your dear twin—fuck or maul her for a change. And you don’t want that to happen, now do you? _

Dipper shivered.  _ Then what do you think I should do? _

The voice laughed mirthlessly.  _ Stay with him. Obey him. At least it won’t be painful; maybe he’ll spare your family if you please him enough! Perhaps you’ll even get to see them once in a while—from afar, of course.  _

Dipper opened his mouth to say anything, argue, but nothing came out.

The voice cut him off.  _ Listen kid, _ it hissed,  _ your fate was sealed the moment the rift shattered. You’re never getting away from him. Better do what he wants and satisfy him—think of all the positives: you get to possibly save your loved ones, live a life of luxury, become immortal, tour the entire galaxy! It can’t get better than this, kid! _

Something within the boy finally crumpled—the dam holding back the tide of events that had left the boy scarred and traumatized. 

Dipper was tired. It was a bone-numbing fatigue, one that stretched from the outskirts of his mind down to the farthest reaches of his withering soul. It kept his normally spit-fire, iron will dulled and diminished, controlled so that his ideals to always fight back never overcame his ideals to obey and protect those who warranted his affection. It forced his fiery, insurgent spirit into submission; wrapped and held it in chains of thick metals that he had no hope of escaping. 

It was saddening. 

The boy who would naturally undermine oppressors was no more (Fini. Done. Gone.) all because of a demon who fell into a profane obsession with a child that was the being’s soulmate. A boy who existed (in the demon’s opinion) to grant him power beyond his knowledge, to become a plaything of sorts. 

In the beginning, Cipher knew that he should (must) let go of the child before it is too late. (Before his interest (obsession) spiraled into something  _ more _ , something exquisite and repulsive and deafening.) But the demon was never one to heed warnings, and so he did not.

He followed the child (from a distance; a breeze that ruffled the child’s hair, eyes that peered and spied from within the birch trees, a fleeting feeling that something was watching), grew enamoured with the boy—his sunny smile, the easiness in which he laughed, how Mason Pines was bright and young and utterly and completely  _ captivating _ . ( _ He was prancing through the wood, winding around trees, darting through the underbrush, pale limbs, so very akin to those of a fawn, sprawled behind him, brown curls blowing in the light wind. He was beaming, cheeks rosy—the compassionate, brilliant,  _ beautiful  _ child that bore the whorls of stardust that composed Bill Cipher’s soul. A boy borne of all things good, destined to be the harbinger of all things dark. And he was all Cipher’s.) _ Yet, the darkness within the being trembled (enthralled) at the boy’s anguish, the way the child wore despair and heartache (it was  _ perfection  _ and Bill craved  _ more _ with a lust which could not be sated), the complexity in how he wept. ( _ Crystalline tears balanced on the dark lashes that framed brown doe eyes. Pale hands clutched at white linen sheets with white knuckles. A head of luscious curls was tucked into two thin knees. The boy believed he was alone in his sorrow, free to break and crumble into glittering pieces without pause. Free to sob with an intensity that made obsessiveness grow within the demon tenfold. But he was not alone. He would never be alone again. _ )

Soon, however, the need to see the boy turned into something else in its entirety, pulverised on its whole. 

The child didn’t know he existed. 

Bill had to remedy that.

The grand confrontation occurred in a manner the dream demon hadn’t expected. A resident of Gravity Falls—Gideon Gleeful, a pudgy, disgusting monster of a meatsack—had summoned Cipher and proposed a (rather) simple deal: Invade Stanley Pines’s mindscape and get him the code to the Mystery Shack (the hunk of garbage his Sapling inhabited. The demon balked in contempt. He would (eventually) fix that too; once the child was in his possession, all Mason Pines would know would be luxury.) safe and the kid would help Bill in his plan to merge the Nightmare Realm and Earth (of course, the demon omitted that fact, instead, saying that he had a special project he needed some help with—telling the kid would scare him away. Ignorance can be bliss). Bill agreed to the terms without much thought and easily infiltrated the old man’s mind ( _ Cipher was astounded that the ugly, dull, wrinkled flesh sack was his Sapling’s Great Uncle. There were no similarities between them whatsoever _ ) When the demon was rifling through the meatbag’s recent memories, there was a rippling in his senses that alerted him other beings had entered Stanley Pines’s mindscape. Curious, Bill was delighted to have come face to face with his Sapling ( _ not so much the other two; Shooting Star and Question Mark were rather dull in his opinion _ ). The boy, however, was not pleased to see him—shouting curses and extremities at the demon and demanding that the being leave his “Grunkle” (the demon scoffed at the word) alone. Instead of being angered by the boy’s vibrant personality, Cipher was thrilled. It would be much more gratifying to break the boy. (The demon grinned) In the end, Cipher allowed the boy, his sister, and his friend to “win”, to “defeat him” and send him back to whatever hellhole he had come from. He had gained what he needed and found out a valuable piece of information about the child: he valued the lives of his loved ones over his own.

Perfect.

While Cipher waited for a foolish fleshbag to summon him, he generously bestowed (plagued the boy with horrifying, promising nightmares) the boy with beautiful dreams. The boy had awakened screaming every night with distressed tears streaming down from beautiful brown eyes. And every night, Shooting Star would be jolted awake; she would pad over to the opposite end of the room to comfort her brother, rub soothing circles on his back, tell him that “It was just a dream, Dippin-Dots” and “You’re safe” and “See? There’s no demon here. He can’t hurt you.”

Oh, how wrong she was.

When the redhead girl, Wendy Corduroy, (Bill silently ground his fists together at the mention of her and assured himself he would mutilate her when he claimed his physical form), his Sapling had been pining after the entire summer, caved in and kissed the boy, Cipher went black with rage.  _ HOW DARE SHE TOUCH WHAT IS MINE,  _ he had screeched,  _ I SHOULD KILL HER WHERE SHE STANDS. MAYBE RIP OFF HER LIPS AND HANDS SO SHE CAN NEVER TOUCH HIM AGAIN.)  _ had told his soulmate that they just couldn’t work, broke the twelve-year-old’s heart, it had struck a possessive nerve in the demon’s body. He should be the only one hurting the boy, touching him, kissing him. 

Bill had decided he had waited long enough.

That night, he himself had gone to the boy in his dreams. The boy, of course, was not happy to see him, especially with Bill having possessed him not a couple days ago. The dream demon had ignored his petty insults and after much bickering, he had deigned to tell him that he, Bill Cipher, was the boy’s soulmate. His sapling’s eyes had gone so very wide and confused (adorable), until the boy snapped out of his trance and had the gall to call the dream demon a liar. Bill did not take it lightly.

The demon believed it was time to curb Pinetree’s habit of rebelliousness and disrespect.

Cipher pounced, tied the boy down and elongated his claws. The terror in the child’s eyes was exhilarating and enough to send pleasure rocketing down his front and towards his nether regions. The dream demon had told the boy that just being in contact with him heightened his powers, but the boy’s bodily fluids would elevate them to a whole other level. The boy had wrestled and fought with all his might, but Cipher was able to subdue him easily. With the first piercing of his claw, his Sapling had screamed and it had been music to his ears. Every time he carved a new marking, a new letter into the boy’s back, he was rewarded with pretty little sobs and cries and a rush of adrenaline and power. The “Stop! Oh God, please stop!” and “It hurts!” were icing on the cake. Afterwards, he had left the boy sobbing and shaking on the ground; his back looked absolutely exquisite. Before Cipher had parted, however, he had murmured in his Sapling’s ear “Let these marks be a testament to my newfound power and to our bond.” When the boy had woken up, he had been horrified to find that the marking Bill had given him had bled into reality.

The implications were enough to send the boy into a fit of despair.

After that night, everything changed. Bill couldn’t stay away from the child. His visits with the boy became more frequent. He had begun to make love to the child and it was the sweetest hell he had ever felt. The feeling of the boy underneath him was utterly breathtaking—

The boy felt his throat constrict; it was becoming difficult to breathe. With a heaving inhale, the twelve-year-old spoke, voice soft.  _ You don’t get it then.  _ A quiet exhale.  _ You're not the one tied to a sadistic, insane demon bent on enslaving every civilization out there.  _ Terrible memories were resurfacing and desperately, Dipper shut them out—locked the door to his mindscape, threw away the key.  _ You’re not the one forced to endure the possessive and obsessive advances of a demon who wants to isolate you from your loved ones and utterly break you. You’re not the one who had to endure countless night terrors during which the demon slowly ripped you apart.  _ The Pines boy’s eyes stung, yet he didn’t let the pain deter him.  _ You're not the one who was cursed to grant him the power to damn every single life form out there. You’re not the one he wants to lock in a gilded cage only accessible to him. You’re not the one he wants to rape and torture on a daily basis. You’re not the one who is slowly breaking to pieces and shattering because you live with the weight of galaxies—entire universes—on your shoulders.  _

The voice was silent

Tears clouded the boy’s vision.  _ I’m only twelve,  _ he murmured weakly,  _ and I’m turning thirteen in a couple of weeks, or was turning thirteen in a couple of weeks. Time is dead, after all.  _ A forced laugh. The boy inhaled shakily.  _ I was supposed to live a beautiful life; I was going to go to highschool, then university for writing—I was going to be a successful author and get married to the love of my life. After uni, Mabel and I, we wanted to live together—move back to Gravity Falls, the town that we fell instantly in love with. We had a bond that was too strong to be stretched over large distances.  _ The boy’s face fell.  _ But now, I don’t get to do any of that. I don’t get to be a teenager. I don’t get to go to parties or meet cute boys or girls or go to highschool. I don’t get to go to university or travel the world or experience things that a normal person would. I don’t get to live with Mabel or have fun anymore. I don’t get to be me. _

_ Do you know what its like to live with a sword over your head? To be forbidden from touching or even looking at anyone because you are a possessive demon’s plaything? To hide the abuse you experience every single night from a sister who knows you like the back of her hand? To lie to someone you never had lied to? To convince her you’re okay when you’re really dying?  _ The boy let out a shaky sob.  _ No you don’t because you’re just a figment of my imagination. You don’t know what it’s like to have your heart ache so bad it makes you want to fall and keep falling. You don’t know what it’s like to have your life ripped from you in a matter of days—your family, your friends, your sense of choice, your happiness, all gone. If I step one toe out of line, I get punished severely—beaten, whipped, scarred, raped. I can endure it, so long as they don’t have to. He knew that. He started to threaten me with their lives if I didn’t obey, and I just can’t let that happen.  _

_ Kid-  _ the voice said hesitantly. Dipper cut them off.

_ No, you’re right,  _ Dipper whimpered.  _ I shouldn’t fight him. It would only end up with my loved ones getting hurt. And I can’t have that. They don’t deserve to take the fall for my actions—only I do.  _

The voices faded away.

#  X

A brush of adoring, hot lips over his nipples jerked Dipper out of his thoughts. 

The boy didn’t fight it—there was no point anyways. 

Before he could help himself, a small sound of pleasure forced his way out of his mouth. Gasping, he looked up to meet the cerulean ( _ azure now, darkened with an emotion the Pines boy didn’t want to place _ ) eyes of the demon. A toothy, hunger-laden smile twisted the demon’s lips and he leaned down to repeat the action. Dipper jerked and moaned, even more so when Cipher lingered to wrap his hot mouth around the buds and suck. 

The boy whimpered so prettily for Cipher that the demon couldn’t help himself. When a teasing hand made its way down the boy’s hairless chest to stroke at his thighs alongside the mouth that continued to suck at the boy’s nipples, he was rewarded with the boy’s back arching. A wave of intense heat went straight to Cipher’s groin at the motion and he growled low in his throat.

Hushed, agitated murmurs spread throughout the henchmaniacs. “We should take this somewhere more private,” Cipher crooned to the child who’s eyes began to widen with fear. “I plan on making you scream my name when I fuck you into oblivion.”

The boy’s throat constricted and a panicked, insticutual “No!” slid from his mouth, much to his horror. Gathering all his strength, Dipper clumsily crawled backwards, hissing at the slight pain that was beginning to emanate from within his shattered arm and fractured rib. It seemed as if Eightball’s enchantment was wearing off. 

Bill clicked his tongue in disdain. “Poor, poor Sapling,” he crooned with a saccharine smile, “acting as if you have a choice in this matter”—all expression dropped from the demon’s sculpted face, leaving a bleak, cold canvas behind—“when in reality, you don’t.” Bill’s clawed hand shot out a leached onto Dipper’s bare shoulder, drawing deep trenches into the boy’s pale skin. The Pines boy screamed hoarsely when Bill’s grip began to tighten. A steady stream of blood gushed from the wound. The demon yanked the boy to his feet and brought him close to his face, close enough that the boy could smell the nothingness of Bill’s breath as it tickled his nose. “Listen here kid,” Cipher snarled quietly, “from the day you were touched by the Ursa Major, you were declared mine, and mine you shall remain.” The demon cocked his head to the side. “Do you know what it means to be mine, little tree?” 

Dipper shuddered in the demon’s grip, tears slipping down his porcelain face from tightly closed eyes. Silent sobs shook his small body. “N-no.” As the hand began to tighten again and agony raced through Dipper’s body, he knew what the demon wanted him to say. Between heaving breaths, the boy yelped out a broken, “Master.” Bill’s hand immediately halted its constricting and the claws retracted from the boy’s flesh. Dipper whimpered when the demon carded his hand through his thick, chocolate curls and pressed a soft, apologetic kiss to the wound.

“It means,” the demon began, as if he were talking to a petulant child, “that you will obey my every order without question or your sister will be the first to pay.” Cipher kissed along Dipper’s shoulder blade and the boy shuddered. “If I wanted you to suck my cock,” the demon murmured against his skin, “you would suck my cock.” Dipper shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut. “If I wanted to pleasure you,” a hand drifted lower and brushed against Dipper’s weeping prick; the boy stifled a moan, “then I would pleasure you and you would stand there and take it.” The Pines boy could feel the demon smirk against his skin. “Do you get the jist kid, or need I continue on?”

The boy sobbed quietly and nodded his head.

“Use your words, Sapling.”

Dipper shook. “Yes, m-master,” he said softly with a bowed head. Tears slid down his face. 

The demon cooed. “There,” Bill murmured, “that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” At Dipper’s quiet snivel, the demon sighed. He scooped the child up into his numerous arms and purred against pallid skin. “As long as you do as I say, you’ll be fine. I intend to take good care of you and maintain you to the best of my abilities, pet.” The demon shushed the boy’s terrified sobs.

Hushed whispers spread through the crowd Bill forgot was there.

Without so much as a glance up (his gaze was trained on his beautiful soulmate), the dream demon waved a gloved hand at his henchmen, dismissing them. “Leave us,” he stated, tone offering no room for argument. “Go have some fun.” The demons cackled and immediately departed, some flying into the underbrush, some heading into town, all grotesque in their movements.

The demon turned back to the boy curled up in his arms, brown eyes wide and scared and utterly exhausted. Bill exhaled. “Maybe I’ve been too hard on you today, pet,” he mused. “Perhaps I should let you rest.”

The boy’s eyes widened in alarm and he began to struggle, even with the prior punishment and lesson still fresh in his mind. The demon could read the twelve-year-old’s thoughts, a jumbled mess of  _ nononononono  _ and  _ please leave me alone _ .

Cipher would never leave the child alone ever again.

The dream demon leaned down and pressed gentle kisses to the nape of the boy’s neck, humming contentedly against his skin. “Sleep, Sapling,” he crooned softly, imbuing his words with some dream magic to ease the child into his domain. 

Dipper wanted to fight back, to run, to do  _ anything _ but stay here, tucked away in the demon’s arms, but in his current predicament, it seemed impossible. The young boy couldn’t bring himself to move; his body was too battered and broken to do anything other than lie still. To Dipper, it seemed as if he was laying down his weapons and accepting his defeat,  _ his doom _ . He felt lost, with no chances of ever regaining a sense of direction. 

Blackness began to eat at the edge of the twelve-year-old’s vision. It came in fast, washing in like the tide; the last bit of strength left the boy’s tired body, his eyelids drooped and became heavy. Soon, the darkness enveloped Dipper completely in a warm blanket of blackness and the boy found himself slowly falling down, down, down into the clutches of sweet, sweet oblivion.


End file.
